


Caught in the Crossfire

by Peps4lyfe



Series: When I Fall, Who Will Catch Me? [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Michelle Jones, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Organized Crime, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Burn, Sokovia Accords, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peps4lyfe/pseuds/Peps4lyfe
Summary: “What do you want from us?” Peter barely mustered.The vicious crime lord peered down at the teenage boy. “Tony Stark has something that I want.”“Tony Stark doesn’t negotiate with assholes like you,” Peter spat back.Kingpin smirked. “If he loves you as much I think he does, then I know he’ll do anything to get you back.”-----------------------Peter’s junior year was supposed to be different: no nightmares, no trauma, no anxiety. But with a sudden and violent power-grab against the feared Maggia Crime Syndicate, it’s up to Spider-Man to protect New York. Peter wasn’t afraid of a challenge, and he had Tony Stark fighting by his side now. But what if being Tony Stark’s protégé was more dangerous to Peter than he realized?(UPDATED/REWRITTEN VERSION)
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: When I Fall, Who Will Catch Me? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/989406
Comments: 29
Kudos: 60





	1. Just a Graffiti Artist

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! I originally started this story in 2018 as a sequel to "Underneath the Smiles", but I started to hit roadblocks because I wasn't sure where I wanted to take a story and I struggled with trying to connect the story back to the first story. With all this social distancing free time I now have, I revisited this story with new ideas and a fresh perspective and decided to completely post a new version. The original version is still included in the series on my page (though it only contains four chapters), so if you are curious how I originally started it, feel free to give it a read.
> 
> This story is still a sequel for "Underneath the Smiles", and I will continue to build on and expand on the character development and storylines from that. For the most part, you don't really need to read "Underneath the Smiles" to understand what's happening but there will be quite bit of references and backstories to these characters that won't make sense if you haven't read it. (Personally, I recommend that you do read it, but that's just me :-P)
> 
> The story will be quite different from its predecessor, though. It focuses more on Tony and Peter's relationship and how they work together as Spider-Man and Iron-Man. There's a lot more violence and torture and angst. It shouldn't be too bad, but I thought I should just warn you first. Also, there'll be a blanket warning for all chapters about referencing child abuse/domestic violence and the difficulty of overcoming such trauma. Please read at your own discretion. 
> 
> That being said, enjoy!

_“To expect the unexpected_

_shows a thoroughly modern intellect”_

_~ Oscar Wilde ~_

Chapter One: Just a Graffiti Artist

Through closed eyes, Peter could hear MJ singing. Faintly; she was barely singing above a breathy whisper. But Peter’s keen hearing made her voice so clear against the soft hum of the traffic outside and against the quiet murmur of conversation, which was only audible to someone of superhuman senses like Peter, from the second floor below. He could see her through the crack of his eyelids. She was leaning against her pillows, eyes trained on her sketchbook, mind lost in whatever she was drawing. MJ was always such a nervous singer, even though Peter thought she was great at it. He recognized the song, too, as _Bleeding Love_. Peter never even realized she liked this song, but she knew every word and she was bobbing her head along to the rhythm. He waited a few seconds longer until he would say something to her. Moments like this didn’t happen often, so he thought he would enjoy it while it lasted.

Peter was at MJ’s apartment, up in her bedroom. It was still pretty bare, like it was when she first moved here, but there were more pictures of Peter and more of her artwork were hung up on the cream-colored walls. The curtains were pulled open, letting the sunlight stream inside, making her beautiful face glow. It was a Saturday afternoon in early September. It was nice outside, sunny and everything, one of those blissful days in Queens that made it so damn difficult for Peter to try and get any work done. He was pretty content where he was now: lying lazily on MJ’s bed, his head resting comfortably on her legs. Despite lying on the fabric of her faded jeans, neck crookedly sinking into her thigh, he felt like he could have slept there peacefully forever. But MJ must have noticed that Peter was waking up because she shook her legs until he finally leaned up and got off her. 

“You know, I was really comfortable just then,” Peter complained through a heavy yawn.

“Well, your big head was starting to hurt my legs,” she said. She glanced at Peter, just barely breaking her concentration from her sketchbook. “And I finished sketching you, so I don’t need you lying on me anymore.” MJ’s lips spread into a smile.

 _God, that smile_ , Peter thought to himself as he looked at Michelle Jones. Even though they saw each other practically every day, she never failed to render him breathless when Peter really let himself get lost in the beauty of MJ’s eyes. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying close enough attention, but freshman and sophomore year, Peter swore that MJ avoided makeup at all costs unless it was for a special occasion. But starting this junior year, she began experimenting with light makeup. Peter really wasn’t sure what she put on her face (he barely knew the difference between foundation and concealer — _is there even a difference?),_ and he was well aware that she was attractive with or without makeup, but whatever she was wearing on her face made her look undeniably beautiful. Her skin was all glowy and it seemed to bring out her eyes even more. She left her hair alone, and Peter liked it that way. He liked the natural texture and messiness of her curly black hair and how utterly comfortable she was with her own appearance. Her curly hair was tucked into a loose bun, strands framing her delicate cheeks, and she wore this bright red t-shirt. It brought out her eyes, too, and Peter felt himself getting lost in them.

“Are you even listening to me right now?” MJ said.

“‘Course I am,” he muttered. She frowned, knowing completely that he had been tuning her out. He leaned forward to twirl a loose strand of her black hair absent-mindedly before returning his attention to her sketchbook. “Is the sketch done? Do I get to see it?” Peter asked with a coy grin on his face.

He made a grab for the sketchbook, but MJ was quick. She snapped it shut and held it close to her chest. MJ glowered at him. “No. Not until I add the finishing touches.” 

Peter leaned against MJ’s pillow, occupying the empty space on the right side of her bed before rolling around to face her. “Rude. I’m modeling for you for free. I at least deserve to see it.”

“Modeling for free?” MJ scoffed. “I’m letting you sleep in my room. _On my leg.”_

“I thought you liked it when I slept with you,” Peter joked.

That comment earned a scowl from MJ and a smack to Peter’s arm. If Peter wasn’t Spider-Man (which meant he was freakishly and significantly stronger than the average man), he had to admit that MJ’s punches probably would have hurt. “I hate you,” she said, “and you better make sure that Shelly or Harrison don’t hear you say that.”

“Oh relax,” Peter said. He snuck his arm underneath MJ and wrapped it securely around her waist. He got up nice and close to her so that he could properly nestle his head against her shoulder. Again, they were never really like this, all cuddly and blissful, especially since MJ wasn’t much for physical contact, but they’ve been having a good day — and Peter had no problem pushing his luck. Only, she was still scowling at him, so Peter decided to retract his earlier statement. “ _Fine._ How about ‘I thought you liked it when I slept _next to_ you?’ You know, it makes for a good model,” he offered.

She rolled her eyes. “Still hate you.”

Peter grinned. “Bullshit you do,” he muttered.

“Language, _nerd_ ,” she said. This kind of banter was normal for them, even though anything that had to do with the two them was far from normal.

Peter and MJ’s sophomore year weren’t exactly filled with the typical issues that everyday teenagers face. Maybe there were some average components to their sophomore year: Peter finally got his first girlfriend, MJ after navigating through awkward dates and jokes. He went to a “wild” party at Flash’s house following the Winter Ball and had to deal with a drunken MJ as a result. He dealt with a few bullies here and there and had a wild crush on a way-out-of-his-league senior. But all these little things were so much more complicated. Liz Toomes, the older girl he dreamed of going out with ever since he saw her for the first when he was seventh grade, moved because her dad was arrested… and her dad happened to be a criminal mastermind that Peter’s alter-ego, Spider-Man, put in jail. Yup. Peter lovingly got to deal with the guilt of knowing that he ruined Liz’s life last year. To make matters worse, Peter was dealing with a whole slew of emotional and mental problems that he wasn’t expecting: flashbacks, nightmares, hypervigilance, anxiety. The list goes on. It took a lot of tears, courage and help for Peter to overcome his trauma, but the year didn’t seem to settle there. It was MJ’s turn for her world to come crashing down around her. Her father was abusive, something that took Peter too long to realize. MJ’s family life was completely and utterly uprooted after CPS declared her father abusive and temporarily his parental rights over MJ and her younger brother. It’s been five months since MJ’s last seen her father. 

Shitty, right? 

It’s for the best. At least, that’s what MJ kept saying. She seemed awfully indifferent to what happened to her last year, but Peter knew all too well she was hiding how much pain she was really in. Only, if that was how MJ needed to act in order to process last year, it really wasn’t in Peter’s place to try to force anything else out her. It was _her_ home life. It was _her_ own trauma. She never said a damn thing to Peter about how he should feel about his problems. She was only there to support him, so Peter knew that he had to do the same thing for her. And he would be there. Always.

They didn’t officially date over the summer. In fact, they only got back together a couple weeks ago, but they were rapidly making up for lost time. They saw each other every day at school and one of them was over at the other’s apartment at least every other day. Perhaps that would seem like a lot to someone who just thought of Peter and MJ as a cute little high school relationship, but everyone else knew that what they had was different. Peter and MJ were good for each other. They knew that themselves. MJ understood Peter’s trauma better than most. She knew he was Spider-Man (Peter didn’t tell her, but MJ was observant, so she was smart enough to figure it out). Knowing that secret eliminated a lot of barriers. Peter didn’t have to lie anymore about why he would disappear out of the blue, and it made it easier for MJ to figure out if something could trigger a panic attack. Not that he has had a lot of those. The summer served as a great time for Peter to recover. He was learning to cope in a healthy manner. Peter knew what had happened with MJ and her father, the whole story and he was honestly convinced that he was the _only_ person who knew the whole story. And because of that, he was at a good place to help her if necessary. 

Right now, though, with MJ snuggled up against Peter, Peter wasn’t thinking about their trauma. Not in the slightest.

“Did you get any homework done while I slept?” Peter asked. “I still have, like, three hours worth of calculus to get done.”

She shrugged. “Unlike you Parker, I planned ahead and got my homework done before you came over. You’re a little distracting…” she frowned. “Not that you were much of a guest today, huh.”

“Well, I was tired,” Peter admitted. He wiggled around on her bed, throwing himself against her pillow to get into a more comfortable position. Moving hurt, however, and it elicited a slight groan from Peter as he felt his shoulders clench up in pain. “And a little sore, too,” he added.

“It was those robbers, right?” MJ asked. 

During Peter’s freshman and sophomore year, it seemed like MJ didn’t care at all about the masked vigilante. While everyone else at school treated Spider-Man like this shiny new toy, she seemed _indifferent_ about the new superhero on the block. But that changed. Peter wasn’t sure if it was because she figured out he was Spider-Man or if MJ had actually cared about the masked vigilante the whole time, but she was becoming pretty invested in Spider-Man. One time during this past summer, Peter caught MJ watching Spider-Man compilations on YouTube. That’s right. She was _fangirling_. Over her boyfriend. 

But anyway, MJ watched the news ( _what kind of teenager does that)._ She knew when Spider-Man got into a big fight, kept tabs on the criminals that Spider-Man captured. Not to mention, the media has been paying more attention to the masked vigilante now that Tony started to go on rounds with Peter more and more. Ever since what happened his sophomore year, Tony was more protective of Spider-Man. It wasn’t about babying, and Peter knew that. Besides, it was pretty fun for Spider-Man and Iron-Man to team up together and kick some _serious_ criminal ass. They had a 100% success rate… Granted, they haven’t actually run into much serious crime. There were a few robberies here and there and a couple muggers every now and then. He wasn’t sure if it was the mere idea that Iron-Man and Spider-Man were now _partners_ that made crime rates drop, but the most that Peter does nowadays is helping lost tourists or keeping graffiti artists and vandals away from local businesses. And if there was any interaction with a criminal, it almost never ended in a fight. Just being in the same vicinity as Queen’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and one of the original Avengers was enough to scare away any criminal. Last night was the first serious crime that Peter stopped in a while. Some lowlife was caught stealing from a bank in Staten Island, and Spider-Man just so happened to be there to break up the heist. 

“Yeah,” Peter said through a yawn. “Didn’t get back ‘til midnight last night, and then Ned and I stayed up and played video games for another couple hours.”

MJ scoffed. “Oh god. You are a dork.”

“Who happens to be _Spider-Man_ ,” Peter added. “But yeah, rounds kind of killed last year.”

“The two-hour nap just now suggested that,” MJ said. “I thought Spider-Man was supposed to have superhuman strength and didn’t pull muscles as easily as us ordinary humans.”

“I _do_ have superhuman strength!” Peter scoffed, indignant. This wasn’t just an ego thing. What Peter’s body has been forced to endure these past two years, all the way from getting shot to all the punches he’s had to take to getting scrap metal dropped on him at the airport in Germany would have killed any other ordinary man. But he was much more capable of withstanding pain and he heals a lot faster than any human. “I was chasing down some robber and he lost control of his car. Almost went careening off the bridge. And I saved him. No _ordinary human_ could do that.”

MJ smirked. “The news did mention something about a bridge. Did you pull him out of the car?”

Peter frowned. “That would have been smart,” he admitted. “But no, I webbed up the car and pulled it back onto the bridge.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, either. The driver must have taken a turn too fast because the car went flying off a bridge. Peter wasn’t one to let anyone die, even if they were criminals, so he webbed up the car and Peter held onto the web for dear life. He was strong, don’t get him wrong, but catching a car mid-fall could have easily dislocated his shoulder. Not to mention trying to pull the entire car back to safety. In hindsight, it probably would have been easier just to attach the car to the side of the bridge and then yank the criminal out, but there was money in the back of that car that belonged to other hardworking New Yorkers and Peter couldn’t just let that money go down in the bay. Once the car was safe, Peter spared no time in disarming and webbing up the criminals, leaving the cleanup to the police and the coverage to the media, which had been circling the bridge in helicopters above during the entire fight. Peter felt pretty satisfied with himself that he managed to do it without Tony’s help, who was busy trying to get civilians clear from the bridge and other roads to keep them safe. Peter supposed he would take sharing the glory of pulling those criminals to safety with Tony if it meant sparing him the excruciating pain he felt today. His joints ached, his muscles throbbed, and he messed up his shoulder.

“Didn’t you watch the news report?” Peter asked.

MJ chuckled. “Why watch the news report when my boyfriend can give me a live action replay of what happened?”

“If you want a live action replay—”

Peter was interrupted as MJ rolled over in her bed to the point of where she was straddling Peter’s hips. She weighed practically nothing so having her entire weight on top of him barely even phased Peter. Again, they were young, and they weren’t dating for too long but… they were teenagers and sometimes, they just couldn’t control themselves. MJ leaned down to press languid kisses on Peter’s jaw and neckline. “You talk too much,” she whispered quietly into Peter’s ear.

“Um, sorry…” Peter managed.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.

“Jesus… um… when, uh…” Peter stumbled over his words right now, though that wasn’t hard to imagine. Peter’s blood was starting to rush to _other places_ so trying to form cognitive sentences didn’t really seem like a possibility. “When’s your th-thing? Your support group?” It was one of Mr. Kernan’s — the CPS worker assigned to her case — ideas to help MJ recover. Every Saturday afternoon, she would go to downtown Manhattan where she had meetings with girls and women who went through similar domestic and parental abuse experiences. Peter knew it was coming up soon, but he just couldn’t remember when. And not just because MJ was distracting him right now.

MJ pulled away with a frown. “ _That’s_ what you’re concerned about right now?”

“Concerned ‘bout—” MJ started working her hands up his back, running her fingers over his abs (he could say he had abs, right?). “ _You_ ,” he finally added through gritted teeth. Peter thought it’d be best for stop trying to speak and instead focus on the really gorgeous girl lying on top of him right now, working her lips down his neck. He let her take control this time, let her decide when to finally press her lips against his lips. The kiss was fervent, deep, and Peter felt her run her tongue against his teeth. 

Somehow, in the heat of everything happening, Peter could sense that something was off. He froze underneath MJ, and she noticed it. Reluctantly, MJ pulled away. “Is something wrong?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it’s not you…” Peter knew what it was. He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Quickly, Peter wiggled out from underneath MJ just as her door opened and gently eased her off of him. “Hey Kevin,” Peter said, breathless.

Kevin Jones, MJ’s little brother, walked inside and stood beside MJ’s bed just as the two teenagers separated. He looked between MJ and Peter back and forth. Peter assumed ( _prayed_ really) that Kevin had no idea what he had just interrupted. “Shelly wanted me to let you know that lunch is ready. Why are you guys so out of breath?” He was so damn innocent, and Peter was trying really hard not to laugh at how awkward the situation was.

“Nothing, Kev,” Peter said. “We were…” —Peter’s mind drew a blank—, “just goofing around. We’ll be down in a second.”

Kevin clearly didn’t look like he bought what Peter was saying. He stared at Peter — more like _glared_ at Peter, as though he was the enemy. “Just be downstairs soon. Shelly will be mad if your lunch gets cold.” 

They waited to talk again until they were sure that the door was closed; Peter strained his hearing to make sure Kevin wasn’t just pretending to walk down the stairs. When the coast was clear, Peter let out a heavy sigh of relief. “I think we’re good,” Peter whispered. The second they were safe from Kevin, Peter and MJ couldn’t help themselves but start laughing.

“Goofing around?” MJ repeated. “He’s in fifth grade. He’s not an idiot.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Come on, he’s just a kid. He has no idea what we were doing.”

“I should hope not. For someone with as big of a secret as you have, you are _terrible_ at lying,” MJ said with a contented sigh. She leaned close to Peter to press another kiss on his cheek before reluctantly rolling off of her bed. “Come on. Get up. I’m gonna change.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay for that?” Peter said with a grin.

MJ picked up her calculator off her desk and hurled it at Peter. Thanks to the spidey-senses, Peter caught it with his left hand and twirled it around for a couple seconds for tossing it back onto her bed. “Get out of here,” she said. She grabbed toward his feet and started dragging him out of her bed. Peter decided to give in. He slumped off her bed, gathered up his backpack and threw it across his shoulder. He was just at the doorway when MJ said, “Wait!” She hurried to him. “One more thing,” she said before leaning forward to kiss him again. “Just in case you forget what that’s like.”

“Really can’t imagine I’m going to forget what that’s like,” Peter said with a grin.

“I’ll be down in a second,” MJ said.

Peter hurried down the staircase and to the kitchen. Just a few months earlier this year, when MJ was in a pretty bad place and Peter was still struggling to come to terms with his issues, he could never have pictured himself to be this happy. This _blissful_ with his life. There were things in his life that were out of Peter’s control, like what happened in the past and the trauma that he had gone through, but he was learning to accept that — _and_ he was learning to appreciate what he was in control. MJ was doing the same. They were both learning to be happy with what they had and who they were now. Being together… that was just an added bonus. 

Downstairs, Shelly O’Connor was dishing out what looked like paninis onto three plates. Shelly’s been great, and Peter was genuinely so happy that MJ was under this woman’s care. Shelly was MJ’s aunt on her mother’s side. After MJ’s mother died from cancer when she was in sixth grade, MJ, her brother and her father lost contact with everyone on her mother’s side. There were extenuating circumstances, of course, considering that her father became an alcoholic following her mom’s death. Peter knew Shelly had a hard time coming to grips with what MJ and Kevin had to go through for years. Peter knew exactly what kind of guilt Shelly was experiencing, too. All those confusing questions of ‘ _what if I had been paying more attention? Could I have stopped what happened?’_ Peter felt the same way as he looked back on his freshman and sophomore year. 

Shelly looked up from the food with a smile. “Did you guys get _any_ homework done up there?”

Kevin, who was sitting at the island, chuckled. “They were probably _goofing around.”_

Shelly turned to look at Peter with a confused expression; Peter just blushed. “I fell asleep,” he admitted. “MJ will be down in a second. She’s changing right now.”

“Surprised you didn’t stay for that,” Kevin said with a grin.

Both Peter and Shelly couldn’t believe what MJ’s little brother just said. Wasn’t he, like, nine-years-old? Peter thought he was blushing before but that was nothing compared to how tomato red he must have looked currently. Shelly looked just as appalled as she stared with wide eyes at Kevin. “Kevin!” she exclaimed, to which he just laughed as though he hadn’t done anything wrong and hurried off to sit at the table next to the living room. She sighed. “I’m sorry. Kids, right?”

“Aren’t I still technically a kid?” Peter said with a laugh.

“You know what I mean,” she said. 

Shelly’s been great all things considering. Really. The kinds of things she does for MJ and her younger brother has really done leaps and bounds for them. And Peter _knew_ the kind of sacrifices she was going to have to make now because he saw the same thing happen with May and Ben. She wouldn’t regret it, he knew that (and he knew that’s how May felt, no matter how many near heart attacks Peter had given her). Taking on two kids, _especially_ after what they went through, would be a challenge, though. Shelly and May were getting along pretty well, and Peter couldn’t help but think to himself that part of their bond was their similar stories. May was probably giving Shelly _plenty_ of advice on how to parent.

“How’s he holding up? I never really ask that,” Peter said.

Shelly turned to look at Kevin: he was preoccupied with eating and watching something on his iPad. “The kid lost the only parent he’s had for most of his life. That’s hard,” she said. “I don’t really think I need to explain that to you, though.” It wasn’t a statement designed to hurt Peter. She — _hopefully_ — didn’t know Peter was Spider-Man, but she knew Peter hasn’t had an easy life, either. She knew about Peter’s parents and what happened with Uncle Ben and the fact that there was still lingering trauma as a direct result from him watching his uncle die. Shelly really took on the responsibility of caring for Peter, too. She’s been open to him, honest and willing to help him if it came down it. 

“No, you don’t,” Peter said. “Is Mr. Kernan having him do anything like what MJ’s going through?” The therapy. The support groups. Peter didn’t want to say those words out loud when he wasn’t sure if Kevin was listening.

“The kid’s young,” Shelly said. “Too damn young to _have_ to do those things. Mr. Kernan has him come along with MJ to some of her counseling sessions every now and then, but he seems to be doing alright. I don’t like underestimating kids — honestly, they can be smarter than adults sometimes, but I genuinely don’t think he completely understands what’s going on.”

“What does he understand?” Peter asked.

Shelly frowned. “Kevin knows that the reason his dad isn’t around anymore is because his father was hurting them. I just don’t think Kevin understands the extent of what Darrell did to MJ. Or how much of an impact the abuse had on her.”

Peter understood that, too. MJ told him that normally whenever her father got physically abusive, he made sure Kevin wasn’t around. _At least the man had the decency not to traumatize both of kids_ , Peter thought bitterly.

There was no time to continue their conversation because Peter heard MJ’s footsteps coming downstairs. “It smells good,” MJ commented as she sat down beside Peter. She was still wearing those faded jeans from before, but she changed into a more formal, button-up shirt. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Just homework and stuff,” Peter said.

“Who’s driving you tonight?” Shelly asked.

“I can drive,” MJ offered, but it was obvious she didn’t seem very confident in that statement. That was another thing. Ever since she had gotten in that car accident with her dad, she’s been pretty tentative about driving. She still drives herself to school or to Peter’s apartment, but it wasn’t something she enjoyed, and Peter could tell. 

“If you need me to, I can drop you off,” Peter said. “I have to run to the grocery store anyway for dinner tonight. I’d be more than happy to take you.”

“I don’t want to bother you—,” MJ started.

“It’s not a big deal,” Peter hastily interjected, but he added a smile just in case. “Seriously, I promised May I’d pick up some stuff for dinner. I’m charge of cooking tonight and I need some ingredients.”

MJ laughed. “You? Cook?”

Peter feigned an appalled look, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly worried he would find a way to mess up dinner that night.

They finished their lunch quickly and, soon, it was time for Peter to drop MJ off. It was a nice day, and the Audi Tony gifted to Peter at the beginning of this year had a great radio too, so they rolled the windows down and blasted their music. MJ always got a little nervous before she went to her support groups — Peter understood that, too, considering he was so wound up every time he went to his sessions with Dr. Strange last year. To ease her nerves, he let her pick the kind of music they were listening and made sure that she felt completely comfortable right now. Peter always wanted to meet some of the women that ran the support group. He thought it would be a great way to understand what MJ was going through and getting advice on how to help MJ was always something he was seeking out, but MJ didn’t even let Peter walk her into the building, even though Peter offered every time.

He pulled up to the curb on the other side of the street. “Text me when you’re finished?” Peter asked. 

MJ nodded. “Yeah. See you in a bit,” she added.

“See you,” Peter said. He watched as she hurried across the street just as the timer for the crosswalk ended. He wished she was more open about what happened in her support groups, but MJ didn’t push Peter last year so he should show her the same level of respect.

Peter finished grocery shopping long before MJ’s support group was finished. He figured he should enjoy the nice day, so he went to one of the coffee shops, bought himself something to drink and sat outside as he tried to sort through his piles of homework. His goal this year was stay on top of his responsibilities, but sometimes his mind just wandered, and he couldn’t help but get a little bit behind. Peter was just about halfway through his calculus homework when Peter got a text from MJ telling him that she was done. He gathered up his stuff quickly, hopped into his Audi and drove around the lot to pick her up. She was standing by the crosswalk again, waiting patiently for Peter. He parked against the curb and MJ scrambled inside. They were off once the light turned red.

“How was it?” Peter asked. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t done a little bit of research on her support group. It wasn’t so much about traditional and structured therapy as it was creating lasting relationships and finding new ways to cope with what MJ was struggling with. Other than the research he’s done, Peter didn’t know a lot of specifics and wasn’t something MJ was all that interested in sharing.

MJ shrugged. “As good as you’d expect.” She looked away now, red in the face.

“Is everything alright?” Peter asked as he took a right turn to get onto a busy street. He reached over to put a hand on MJ’s, feeling pretty confident that he wouldn’t have a problem driving one-handed.

“Yeah,” MJ said. 

Peter knew better than to believe her right off the bat. “MJ…” Peter started. He didn’t like pushing her when she wasn’t comfortable with something, but they had come to a mutual agreement that suppressing emotions wasn’t good for either of them. When Peter kept something from MJ, it hurt MJ. And the same could be said for Peter. If something was really bothering her, it wasn’t like Peter expected her to be explicit in detail about what was bothering her. Just knowing what she was feeling at least so that Peter could be more aware with his words and actions was all he asked.

“One of the women in my support group brought their family,” MJ finally said. She was staring out the window, which meant whatever she was feeling was worse than Peter had anticipated. The no eye contact thing was a dead giveaway that something was seriously wrong. “She had an ex-husband who was really abusive. Six years later and she’s remarried with kids. She’s _happy_ , Peter.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Peter asked, tentatively.

MJ nodded, hastily. “It is. No, I’m really happy for her it just made me miss having a family as happy as that… And what’s sad is that my family wasn’t even that happy, but I _miss it._ ”

Peter bit his lip. He had the hardest time trying to talk MJ through this kind of stuff. “I know it’s tough, alright?” Absent-mindedly and still keeping his eyes on the road, Peter ran his thumb over the ridges of MJ’s knuckles. “But I just want to know that, maybe you’re not related by blood or anything, but you do have a family that cares about you. And, hey, if that woman in your support group can overcome what she went through, then you can, too.”

“I know…” MJ said. 

“Then why do you seem so upset, right now?” Peter asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“MJ, it’s not nothing. You need to stop belittling your feelings—”

“I’m not belittling my feelings.”

“It’s okay to be upset about things,” Peter said.

“It took her _six years_ , Peter!” MJ suddenly exclaimed. The stop light in front of Peter was red, so when the car came to a stop, he looked over to MJ to see that her eyes were welling with tears. “It took her six years to find a new family and to start really feeling like she was moving on from what happened. And she doesn’t have to deal with terminating parental rights and giving Shelly legal custody over us! That shit can take forever!”

Peter stayed quiet for a couple seconds. MJ was pretty heated right now, and Peter knew he was getting pretty upset, too. Right now, what they needed was to take a couple breaths, gather themselves and then talk rationally. Peter really hated arguing about this kind of stuff with MJ. It wasn’t like Peter was justified in saying that MJ was being unfair about the situation. It would never be in Peter’s place to dictate how MJ should be feeling because Peter had never gone through something like this. Even if Peter had gone through something like this, Peter and MJ were still two different people, which meant that their experience and perception of events were different. She was _allowed_ to be upset, and Peter was in the wrong to try and dictate how she handles her grief.

“I’m sorry,” Peter finally said. 

MJ sighed. She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m just… I’m just tired of all this. I just want to skip ahead to when I’m thirty and maybe all of this will be over.”

“When’s the court date for Shelly’s custody hearing?” Peter asked. 

MJ was pretty private about the legal proceedings surrounding her father, but Peter knew plenty about what was happening both from what MJ and Mr. Kernan had shared to a little bit of his own research. The legal system hates separating families unless serious abuse was happening, and sadly, MJ’s life had fallen into that category. Though Mr. Jones’s custody over his kids was still temporarily suspended, the legal process of formally terminating his parental rights and Shelly legally adopting MJ and Kevin was barely crawling its way up to a judge. There were required trials, working with social workers, proof of their familial ties and proof that they would be able to support two kids—especially when one was about to go to college. Thankfully, there was little concern over whether Shelly and Harrison would receive full custody over Kevin and MJ. It was more the court dates, the invasiveness of the process and the red tape that stressed everyone. The fact that this case, as black and white as it may seem, was so drawn out, still looming over MJ’s head, just made the situation all the more traumatizing.

“In three months,” MJ said. _Three months._ Peter controlled his facial expression as to not indicate to MJ how absolutely furious that made him. “It’s the soonest date Mr. Kernan could schedule.”

Peter pulled up in front of MJ’s house where they sat in his car for a little bit. This really wasn’t how Peter wanted to leave the conversation, so he tried again. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked. He didn’t expect her to invite him over, but it seemed like it was a given at this point in their relationship.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. I volunteer at a soup kitchen every Sunday at Chinatown, and I was wondering if you wanted to join me,” MJ said. Peter always knew that MJ volunteered a lot — she may put on a front of indifference, but MJ was definitely one of those ‘protest for the marginalized’ kind of person. “Some of the women in my support group said that it’ll help with recovery to get the people in my life more involved in things I care about. Something about trust… or intimacy. I don’t really remember. But, the offer stands.”

Peter’s heart leapt at the opportunity to be a part of it in any capacity. “Of course, I’ll go with you!” Peter said, eagerly. “Is there any paperwork or anything I need to fill out?”

She smiled, but there didn’t seem to be a scrap of happiness in her appearance, as though the pain of their previous conversation was still lingering in her mind. “Good. _Great._ Since you’re under eighteen, there’s a form online that May will need to sign. I can send the link to you,” MJ said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Peter said.

MJ pushed the car door open just slightly before turning back to Peter and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she added before slamming the door behind her and hurrying back up her stairs. 

* * *

The spider-senses Peter had been fine-tuning for most of his sophomore year and the summer leading into his junior year were pretty helpful in a lot of things. In fights, Peter could anticipate his opponents moves before his opponent could even fathom executing them. Peter felt it in his bones and muscles if there was a threat nearby. But the spider-senses also helped _outside_ of being Spider-Man. For example, Peter rarely slept in anymore because his senses just knew when he was supposed to get up. His driving skills were great. It was like he knew if someone was trying to pass him (or if a cop was nearby and Peter was speeding, but no one besides Peter needed to know that). In terms of cooking, the spider-senses were great. If he was trying to make pancakes, Peter just _knew_ when he was supposed to flip them. He had a good understanding of whether or not he was about to overcook something. However, there are some things that the spider-senses can’t quite anticipate like—

“You read the wrong recipe?!” May exclaimed. “How did you read the wrong recipe?!”

Peter sheepishly looked at the ground. “I don’t know…”

May glanced at the food in front of Peter. He was trying to make chicken pot pie. He prepared the vegetables, got the oven preheated and prepped the rest of the food. Somehow in between the time that he was supposed to lightly cook the vegetables and then add the chicken, he must have flipped to the wrong page because he added a bunch of seasonings and salt and other _weird_ ingredients that he wasn’t supposed to. 

“You know, for a smart kid, you really are dumb sometimes,” May said. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t look angry in the slightest. More amused. “Guess chicken pot pie isn’t happening tonight, then?”

“I’m sure we can salvage it,” Peter said. He took a bite of his vegetables. While they were nice and soft, cooked _just right_ , the flavor was not working. “Yuck. Maybe not.”

“Were you distracted? This isn’t like you to mess up on something so easy,” May said.

Peter shrugged. “I was just thinking a lot,” Peter admitted. He wasn’t lying about that, either. Ever since he dropped MJ off at her place, all he’s been doing is thinking about her. Okay. He thinks about her a lot, but normally about _other things_. In fact, Peter hasn’t thought about her _and her father_ this much since the beginning of the summer. Expecting that she would have just ‘gotten over it’ by now would be stupid and unfair, but she hasn’t brought up missing her family in a while. Seeing her that upset honestly hurt.

“Wow. You overthinking things? What a surprise,” May said. She leaned over to put her hand on Peter’s arm. She glanced at the food in front of her. “Oh well. This isn’t the first time we’ve messed up a meal in our house. What kind of food are you feeling tonight? Pizza?”

“I guess I’d never turn down pizza,” Peter said with a sigh. “I was just looking forward to cooking you something good tonight.”

May smiled, running her fingers through Peter’s hair. “There’ll be other nights for you to mess up on cooking.”

Peter laughed. “Oh. I forgot to mention to you before, but MJ wanted me to volunteer with her at a soup kitchen in Chinatown tomorrow. I think there may be some forms I need you to fill out, though, if it’s okay.”

May smiled. “You’re _volunteering_ , Peter?” She feigned an overdramatic gasp. “Why would I say no? Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time you volunteered.”

Peter frowned. “What do you call what I do every night for Queens?”

Peter knew May was messing with him, but he was still pretty indignant. “Vigilantism,” May whispered into Peter’s ear as she took out her cell phone to dial the pizza place.

While the two of them waited for the pizza to show up, Peter tried to work his way through the stack of homework he had piling up. He actually managed to focus for a while, which of course meant that something was eagerly waiting to interrupt Peter’s focus. That something happened to be a text message from Tony Stark. _< <Rounds tonight? 9pm?>>_

 _Again._ Peter had to admit that Tony had never been this interested in doing rounds with Peter until recently. It felt like almost every single night the two of them were going out. There wasn’t always crime for the two of them to attend to, but instead of calling it a night, Peter and Tony would scope out some towns and keep watch over businesses… _just in case._

It was nice to be able to spend time with Tony, especially because Peter knew how lonely he would get at the compound. Pepper and Rhodes were still around, as far as Peter knew, but Tony was used to having a compound bustling full of other Avengers—of other friends. It’s been over a year since the civil war between Tony and Captain America, Steve Rogers, _Tony’s friend._ You’d think Tony would have adjusted to being away from Steve Rogers, but Peter knew better. They were more than just associates or teammates, and friends simply didn’t seem like an adequate term for the relationship the two of them shared. Peter could never replace what Tony had with the other Avengers, but if Peter could keep Mr. Stark company in any fashion, he would do it in a heartbeat. 

Peter was definitely considering taking the night off tonight, especially after how much rounds yesterday destroyed his upper body, but he just couldn’t say no. _< <Yeah. Let’s meet at our usual spot.>>_

Dinner passed and time for rounds came by fast. Peter was waiting on the edge of a high-rise building, feet dangling over the edge and swinging his legs calmly. Through the Iron-Spider mask, Peter breathed in the fresh air—as fresh of air as Queens could get, he supposed. He took in the sight of Queens at night, the moon glowing in the sky, the quiet murmur of cars down below and the shining lights of apartments. Peter was waiting for Iron-Man to start rounds and during this time, right before swinging into action and after a long day, he tried hard to clear his mind and relax. Still tired, Peter knew he could have taken the night off, if he really wanted to, but the joy of working with Tony and the joy of just being Spider-Man was too much excitement for Peter to pass up. His enthusiasm for protecting Queens didn’t stem from this feeling of obligation and guilt, but rather the excitement each adventure called for and of knowing that he was doing something good for his community. Hanging with Tony Stark was just an extra perk.

Peter heard the sound of repulsors before Tony could say anything. Immediately, Peter jumped up and turned to find his mentor in the gleaming Iron-Man suit standing before. In the dark of the night and by contrast to Peter’s black and shimmering gold suit, Iron-Man, more like _Tony Stark,_ stood out like a sore thumb. For someone who didn’t know Tony, they could look at his life — the nice cars, the expansive opportunities Tony was offered with the help of who his parents were, the overdone appearance — and judge him pretty hard. People could easily assume he was spoiled, an elitist, didn’t care about the ‘common-folk’, or the little people. The fact of the matter is, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Perhaps Tony can be a bit crass, will indulge himself in expensive cars and nice restaurants, but just because Tony had a lot money, it doesn’t automatically make him a bad person. Tony had a big heart. He defended and protected the people he cared about, sacrificed _so much_ to fight against enemies that the police force or the military couldn’t handle. That kind of stuff had obviously taken its toll on Tony, yet people still see him as the bad guy. Even May saw him as the bad guy before she realized how much he was doing for Peter.

The mask retracted itself to reveal Tony Stark, a sly smile on his face. “On time, today, huh?”

“I was late _one time_ ,” Peter murmured.

“How are you feeling after yesterday? The media seemed to love Spider-Man and Iron-Man today,” Tony said.

Peter rolled his eyes. If this was one year ago, before Adrian Toomes and before everything with MJ’s dad, Peter would have eaten up all of this media coverage. Now, it seemed more of a distraction and glamorization of everything Peter has to go through in order to put the mask on every day. “Little tired,” Peter admitted. “And a little sore.”

“You sure you want to do this tonight?” Tony said. “I think I can handle myself alone—”

“No, no, no,” Peter interrupted. “I’ll be fine.”

Tony frowned. “Are you sure? I haven’t been working you too hard, recently?”

“No. Never,” Peter said.

“What do we have on the docket today?”

“There’s a vandal a few blocks away targeting some small business. You in?” Tony offered.

Peter frowned. He didn’t have problem doing these tasks—no job was too small, especially if it meant helping someone in Queens. But after his first taste of real action last night in what felt like weeks, Peter was itching to do more like that. _Be patient, Parker. That time will come._ “Yeah, of course,” Peter said. “Where are we off to?”

“Follow me,” Tony said. Tony didn’t waste a second, his repulsors activating as he soared through the air. “Keep up kid!”

Peter laughed, his competitive nature kicking into overdrive. Keeping up with the advanced technology that were the repulsors whirring in the quiet night was one thing but trying to be faster than Tony was a completely different challenge, one that Peter tried to do every night. He would fling one web to a building and in the next instant release it, grabbing on to yet another web. It was a graceful dance, one that Peter had perfected over the past two years of being Spider-Man, the closest thing to really _flying_ , like you did in dreams as a kid.

“Stop right here,” Tony said, the sound of the comms hooked into the advanced technology that was the Iron-Spider suit filling his ears. Tony, who was now hovering in the air, pointed to a drain pipe right next to him. Understanding what Tony was suggesting, Peter latched himself to the pipe, keeping himself hidden in the shadows of the building. “Almost caught up to me this time, huh?”

“It’ll happen one day,” Peter muttered. “What are we looking at?”

Tony pointed to the building across from the two of them. Peter recognized it as a lamp store that he would pass whenever he went to the compound. The sign in the front of the building was worn down, the letters completely faded. Even the window clings indicating the store hours were falling apart. Of all the times Peter had driven past this place, he wasn’t sure if he’s even seen a single person walk in or out of that store, or any cars parked in their parking lot. Peter supposed that would make sense why the graffiti artist picked this place. No one came here. The police were practically never around this area simply because there was so little foot traffic. 

“Parker.” Tony’s voice snapped Peter out of his reverie. “Why don’t you take this one?”

Peter looked at the vandal, dressed in black with a few bottles of spray paint as his feet. “Right,” Peter said. “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

“If you need anything, I’ll be watching,” Tony said.

Peter acted fast. He hooked a web onto one of the pipes of the building by the vandal, kicked off the ledge he was holding onto and swung forward. He landed gracefully in front of the vandal and so quietly that it appeared the vandal hadn’t even noticed Peter, still shaking up the bottle of paint with fervency. Now that Peter was up close, the vandal seemed _much_ bigger than Peter initially expected. Peter was pretty big, really grew into his body over the past summer and all these rounds really helped Peter bulk out, but that was nothing compared to the size of this man. The vandal looked like he was at least 6’3” with thick bands of muscles for arms and legs. And, not to be rude, but his head was _massive_. Like disproportionally huge and flat, too. Honestly, Peter was amazed the man didn’t tip over.

 _Just a graffiti artist,_ he reminded himself. _Tony Stark is right over there._

Peter cleared his throat in an obnoxiously loud way. “Excuse me, sir? I thought contract muralist hours ended at 5pm?” Nothing wrong with a good joke to bring out some levity. “Could be wrong. I’ve never employed one of those before.”

The graffiti artist stopped. Ever so slowly, as if the mere idea of having to talk to Spider-Man brought so much agonizing anger and frustration, the man turned to look at Peter. Peter could have sworn that the artist was part animal because of the throaty growl that issued from the back of his throat. Peter couldn’t see the vandal’s face, _thank god,_ because the vandal’s brown, stark eyes alone were narrowed and menacing enough. During these rounds, when Peter’s only goal was to stop the graffiti artist from ruining some poor person’s small business, it never felt like a real threat. This time, though, it was different. The spider senses as Peter called them began to tingle in the back of his neck—it wasn’t violent by any means, but it was enough to let Peter know that this definitely wasn’t your average graffiti artist… then again, Peter wasn’t your average vigilante.

“Whoa,” Peter said, holding his hands up. “Dude, chill. I’m not going to turn you into the police. Just give me the spray bottle, don’t do it again, and you’ll be on your merry way.”

“Spider-Man…” the graffiti artist muttered, his voice as rough as the growl he just emitted. Unlike the other ones that Peter had stopped, this one didn’t sound _nearly_ as frightened. In fact, he sounded simply annoyed. “I should have figured you would have come. You’ve been so busy taking care of other ones.”

“Parker, what’s taking so long?” Tony muttered into Peter’s ear.

Peter ignored Tony. “So, you should know how this is going to end?”

The vandal continued to shake up the bottle as though he didn’t even care that Spider-Man _and_ Iron-Man for that matter was right in front of him. “With me finishing what I came here to do.”

“You’re a persistent one, I’ll give you that,” Peter said. “You have a name?”

“You tell me yours. I’ll tell you mine,” the vandal said. “And your real one. Not a fan of the name Spider-Man.”

“I would be offended, but I’m about to kick your ass so that’ll make up for it,” Peter said. “Seriously, give me the spray can and you won’t get hurt.”

“I have a better offer. You get out of my face and I won’t kick _your_ ass,” the vandal threatened. This wouldn’t be the first time Peter had been threatened by some low-life criminal, but this was the first time it felt like a legitimate threat; the tickling sensation in the back of Peter’s head was getting stronger. The vandal’s attention went back to his spray bottle, fingers on the nozzle.

“Okay, enough,” Peter said. He grabbed for the paint bottle and then—

Something hard hit Peter’s forehead. Hard like a shot put thrown by an Olympic athlete and slamming into Peter’s forehead. Forceful enough to send Peter stumbling over and crushing into newspaper dispenser. Peter’s shoulder erupted in pain, his mind whirling, his balancing failing as he tried to orient himself after the blow. Was it a brick? _No_ … it was the vandal’s _head._ Any headbutt like that, with the amount of force Peter only assumed the man used, must have damaged his opponent as well. But it didn’t… in fact, the vandal barely looked fazed.

Peter groaned. “Uh… Mr. Stark!”

“I’m coming! Hang on, kid,” Tony said.

The vandal heard the sound of Iron-Man coming, the repulsors a dead giveaway. Rounding on the Tony, the vandal yanked something from the depths of his jacket. Not something. _A gun._ Despite the throbbing headache and the fact that Peter was seeing double right now, the spider-senses acted fast, compelling Peter to get back to his feet. He shot a web, fighting the threat of unconsciousness, to get the gun away from the vandal. Maybe it was the inevitable concussion that Peter figured he had to be sporting right now, but Peter wasn’t fast enough. Bullets splayed in the open air, an echoing _CRACK_ erupting as the iron suit absorbed some of the bullets. Of course, the suit was bulletproof and likely didn’t do any serious damage to Tony. It was enough to shake the man, though, because Tony stumbled a little, nearly dropping to the ground.

The vandal was distracted, and Peter seized the opportunity. Not sure if he could rely on his aim anymore, he scrambled for the gun. Peter wasn’t going to let some vandal, some _seriously intense_ vandal, hurt Mr. Stark or hurt himself anymore. Peter got one hand on the gun and pulled with all of his might. The gun jerked a little but didn’t leave the vandals hand. Peter tried again. He kicked the vandal in the stomach and pushed with so much fervor until the vandal was crushed against the glass door of the lamp store. The door shuttered. Glass flew everywhere. The alarm to the store sounded with a high-pitched _RING,_ and it _hurt._ Really hurt. Peter’s head felt it was going to explode. He felt suddenly nauseous. The world was blurring. The spider-senses tried desperately to keep Peter in the fight; the vandal was getting back up, ready to strike Peter again. Peter knew that one more blow to his head, and he was going to be completely incapacitated.

Only, Peter wasn’t alone. Iron-Man was still there, a little shaken from the unexpected semiautomatic weapon this supposed ‘vandal’ had, but he was always ready for a fight. A stream of blinding, bright orange light spewed from the repulsors and the vandal was blasted backwards. He flew into the lamp store, hitting a shelving unit that crunched under the blow. The shelving came crumbling down, the man getting crushed by the weight of it all. Lamps shattered, the ringing of the alarms were still going. In the background, Peter could hear the faint noise of the emergency vehicles getting louder and louder as they approached the scene of this crime.

This was supposed to be a _graffiti artist._ What the hell was a graffiti artist doing with a semiautomatic weapon?

Tony landed on the ground beside of Peter. “FRIDAY, vitals,” Tony asked, taking in Peter’s appearance. There was a pause before Tony said anything again. Then, a sigh of relief, followed by Tony saying, “You’re going to be okay, kid. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he was going to—” Tony stopped himself, looking at the vandal, who was still hidden under the broken rumble, a suddenly dark expression on his face.

“Mr. Stark, I’m okay,” Peter reassured. “Go… go check on that dude.”

Tony frowned. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll be okay,” Peter assured. “ _Go._ That guy could be dead.”

Peter could tell that Tony wanted to argue, but he didn’t say anything further. The older man disappeared into the lamp store. There was a little bit of grumbling, the sound of rubble shifting and then a low stream of moaning. 

Peter didn’t suspect that the vandal was getting up anytime soon because the spider-senses weren’t activating. In fact, the adrenaline was starting to wear off. He let himself try to fully relax. Peter’s healing capabilities were kicking into overdrive, working just as hard after the fight with the Vulture at Coney Island. The ringing—Peter couldn’t quite tell if it was from the blow to his head or from the obnoxious sound of the alarm—was slowly starting to subside. His head still hurt, but the headache was starting to lessen. The sudden, overwhelming urge to throw up was going away and Peter was finally able to gather his bearings. He didn’t dare to get back up on his feet, not when he wanted to give himself every second to heal in case something else happened.

What felt like a mere second later, Tony was kneeling by Peter’s side again. The metal helmet retracted itself. “The vandal, is he okay?” Peter asked.

Tony scowled. “How could you care about this right now? You’re hurt.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m healing. My head doesn’t hurt that much anymore. I promise,” he assured. “That guy—what happened to him? Is he okay?”

“He’s alive,” Tony said, but the tone of his voice wasn’t very convincing to Peter. Even through the pain, Peter’s face was a giveaway to how he felt about Tony’s answer, so Tony continued, “Those shelves crushed him, Peter. I’m no doctor and I’m really just going off FRIDAY’s word… but he’s badly wounded. The police and paramedics are on their way. They’ll take care of him _and_ they’ll take him into custody.”

“Tell the paramedics to be careful. That guy has a skull made of steel, I swear,” Peter said.

He felt like he had the strength in him to get back up. Peter tested the water, pushing himself off the ground and seeing whether his body was going to object. He was still a little weak, and Peter couldn’t tell if that was from rounds yesterday or from the nasty blow just now. Regardless, it didn’t feel too strenuous for him to sit upright, finding support against the side of the building.

“I don’t think he’s going to be putting up much of a fight for the paramedics,” Tony said. “ _Easy_ , kid. Maybe we should get the paramedics to check on you.”

Peter shook his head. He couldn’t risk the world finding out about his secret identity. “I’m okay… get me to the compound. I can make it ‘til then. No one else got hurt, right? I mean, with the gun fire and everything? And, god, what about this building? We destroyed this person’s business—over a little graffiti no less.”

Tony put his hands on Peter’s shoulder, gently. “You’re spiraling again. I’ll make sure to check on any bystanders, but I think we would have seen them by now if there were any. And this wasn’t just over a little graffiti. The guy had a semiautomatic weapon and was willing to kill the two of us over a little paint job. This is the kind of person you and I are supposed to apprehend,” Tony said, bitterly. “DODC will take care of this, and the Stark Relief Foundation will cover the cost of getting this fixed. Don’t worry about this.”

The paramedics were starting to show up now. There were a lot of them: multiple police officers, an ambulance and even a firetruck. Their blazing, whirring lights cut through the darkness, the blaring sound of their sirens almost as painful as the sound of ringing that was slowly starting to mute itself in Peter’s head. Tony reluctantly left Peter’s side to speak to the police officers who, guns ablaze, were coming out of their cars with apprehension. They took in the sight of the bullet holes in the buildings across the street, the absolutely destroyed lamp store and Spider-Man crumbled up against the business store. The police looked nervously at Iron-Man in front of them, their hands still clutching their guns nervously.

“What the hell happened here?” The police officer nearest Tony asked.

Tony ignored his question. “The perp is in the store. He’s badly wounded. A shattered sternum, several broken ribs, punctured lungs. He needs help.” 

The police officers didn’t waste a second. They went running into the lamp store, ignoring Spider-Man lying there dumbly. One look at the criminal and the police officers went hollering for the EMTs. Peter grimaced as the EMTs brought out a stretcher and multiple bags of equipment and began running to the lamp store. Peter could barely process what he had just heard Tony say. Criminal or not, how could Peter _and_ Iron-Man do so much damage to one person?

“Do they need help getting the guy to the hospital?” Peter offered.

Tony shook his head. “No. When I was in, I got some of the rubble off and helped stabilize some of his wounds. He’ll make it. Besides, we need to get you looked at.” Peter studied the man’s voice was a second, looking to see if there was any trace of deception… but Tony’s voice was steady, firm and that was reassuring. Tony put one arm around Peter’s back and hoisted him off the ground, slowly. “Is this okay? Does it hurt?”

Peter tried to remind himself that everything Tony was doing was for Peter’s safety. “I’m okay. Really. Let’s just get back to the compound.”

Making sure that Peter was completely secure in Tony’s arm, he took off. The repulsors shot up from the ground and the two went soaring in the sky. Peter didn’t think he needed this; he could handle himself, but there was nothing in the world that Peter could say to Tony to get the older man to release him. All Peter could do was clutch onto Tony as Queens passed beneath. Everyone below, driving along the road, minding their own business, had no idea what had just transpired. Had no idea that what was supposed to be merely breaking up a low-level criminal turned into an outburst of violence. All this thinking was making Peter’s head hurt and, as far as Peter was concerned, he most definitely had a mild concussion. Peter closed his eyes. _Don’t sleep,_ he warned himself, knowing the concussion protocols. _Relax. Forget_. _Process_. But he couldn’t just clear his mind. He wondered what the vandal was doing to that business that was so important. Did the vandal and the business owner have a grudge against each other? Was this grudge worth whatever permanent damage the vandal suffered in the fight?

What had Spider-Man and Iron-Man just stumbled upon?


	2. Collateral Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for everyone reading and commenting and leaving kudos. I'm very happy to be back with another chapter, though this one is just slightly heavier than the last. Please be warned for a minor panic attack in this chapter. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

_“Precautions should be taken_

_to prepare for unexpected events_

_which could have terrible consequences”_

Chapter Two: Collateral Damage

The Iron-Man suit traveled fast, especially when there weren’t any distractions that impeded the travel to the compound. They cleared the cities fast and flew over the trees, the streamers of energy emitting from the repulsors jerking around the leaves and branches below. This was hardly the first time Peter was at the compound, but Peter always felt so… speechless whenever he came here. He felt as though he was passing over a high-end airport, especially since there were actual runways where the Avengers (or what’s left of them) would land the Quinjet. Peter still marveled over the marble bridge that connected the living quarters to the Stark Industries headquarters. He stared at the A—the Avenger’s symbol in awe. It gleamed in the darkness, illuminating the blackness of the walls around it. Sometimes Peter really didn’t understand how he managed to be _involved_ in this life. It felt like dream sometimes. A _dangerous_ dream, especially considering that Peter was currently sporting so injuries that would definitely require him going to need to see a real doctor… but a dream, no less.

“FRIDAY.” Tony’s voice cut through the silence of the night. “Get the lights on for us. And did our guest get inside alright?”

_Guest?_

The lights to the compound flickered. The perimeter of the rooftop lit up with bright white and red bulbs and began flashing to indicate the safest place for Stark to land. Below, the front lights turned on, illuminating this beautiful, sleek gray Lamborghini parked out of front. The headlights of the car were still on. It couldn’t have been Tony’s—it wasn’t an Audi… Whoever it was clearly wasn’t a threat because Peter’s senses didn’t do anything to indicate there may be a fight brewing. Unfazed by the car, Tony landed on the rooftop with a quiet tap. Immediately, Peter felt the Iron-Man suit disappear from Tony’s arms as the nanomachines detached from one another away and melted away into the chest piece Tony wore.

“Really, I’m okay, Tony,” Peter said for what felt like the tenth time that night. “Whose car is that?”

Tony frowned. “I called Strange.”

Peter kept himself from audibly groaning. Stephen Strange, the Master of the Mystic Arts, a _literal wizard,_ was a good friend of Tony’s and played a personal hand in helping Peter through the whole mess of last year. Dr. Strange was a neurosurgeon—or at least _used_ to be prior to traveling to the Himalayas after suffering a terrible car accident that left his hands partially paralyzed. He’s a little egotistical and can sometimes be a little bit a douche (Tony’s words—not Peter’s), but he was also a pretty solid guy. For being a neurosurgeon, Dr. Strange was also a pretty good therapist. He supported Peter through the trauma and anxiety of last year and really helped Peter through when times get dark. _Really dark._ Because Peter was doing better and had a handle on healthy coping mechanisms, Peter stopped seeing Dr. Strange. In fact, ever since their last session in the summer, Peter hadn’t heard anything about or from Dr. Strange. Peter figured he was out protecting earth’s reality (or something — Peter doesn’t really understand what Dr. Strange is capable of).

“I’m fine!” Peter protested. “Seriously, I know how to handle a little bit of stress. I don’t need Dr. Strange.”

Tony scowled. “You hit your head and you might have a concussion. Accelerating healing aside, don’t you think a neurosurgeon is worth talking to after suffering from head trauma?” Peter couldn’t argue with that. Spider-senses aside, if there was any injury that was enough to shake Peter to this extent, it was worth getting a doctor to examine him and who better to check up on a potential head injury than one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, possibly even the world (though Peter would never indulge Dr. Strange with that definition).

The inside of the compound was eerily deserted. The lights were all on, but that was the only indication that there was anyone living in the compound. The blankets and pillows were straightened and fluffed, as though they were brand new. Every door they passed was shut and if they were open, all Peter could see was _spotlessness_. There wasn’t a single knickknack out of place. No dirty dishes. There wasn’t even a pair of shoes by the front door, either.

“Where is everyone? Where’s Pepper?” Peter asked as the two of them made their way to the infirmary, a place in the compound with which Peter was very familiar.

“Vision is in New York working with the UN, the World Security Council and Thaddeus Ross. Ross is being a real pain in the ass,” Tony muttered, bitterly. “Pepper is on a business trip in London, but she should be back soon… and Rhodes is out doing a little business.”

“Business?” Peter asked.

Tony shrugged. “Nothing big. Just little things I need done. He’s been stuck in the compound for the last year, so he’s eager to get outside.”

There were a million things that could have meant, and there was no way Peter could be 100% sure that it was even Avengers-related. Following the disastrous events at the German airport and Colonel Rhodes’s paralysis, Tony, Dr. Helen Cho and so many other geniuses were working hard to find something that could make walking a possibility for Rhodes. They landed with these electronic braces that Rhodes had been sporting for several months now. It wasn’t perfect and there was still a sharp learning curve to get the braces to work, but Rhodes was hungry to return to normalcy. Peter knew how many hours Rhodes had devoted to physical therapy and testing. He seemed to be doing pretty well with the braces to the point of even going on solo missions now. Tony and Peter occasionally vetted most of the missions to make sure Rhodes wasn’t going into heavy fire but, all in all, Rhodes could handle himself and was constantly proving that.

They were in the infirmary now, and it looked just as untouched as the rest of the compound. And even cleaner, if that were possible. Peter recognized the hospital bed, the MRIs and the array of surgical tools. Waiting by the x-ray machine was Dr. Strange. Peter would have recognized him almost immediately, from the well-groomed goatee to the austere look in his eyes. Dressed in a blue cardigan and looking somewhat out of place even though this a makeshift hospital, Dr. Strange strode toward Peter and Tony, taking in their battered appearances. Peter realized he was still in the Iron-Spider suit, despite now being safe in the compound. Peter yanked the mask off and tossed it onto one of the marble counters.

“Thanks for coming,” Tony said, extending his hand, which the doctor took almost immediately. “I see you took my gift here.”

“Yes, the human in me quite appreciated the Lamborghini. It was very much my kind of car prior to…” Strange stopped himself, holding his hands up. Though the paralysis was healed as a result of his incredible magic, the ugly scars still marred his fingers. He didn’t continue with his sentence, changing the subject quickly. “You two look like hell,” Dr. Strange said, but there was no hint of amusement in his voice.

“We just got shot at. What do you expect?” Tony scowled. “What were you doing while all this went down? Playing bridge with Wong?”

Strange frowned. “Protecting your reality… _douchebag.”_ Normally, Peter would have laughed at the comment but the slight pounding in his head and the seriousness of needing Dr. Strange for a potential concussion check-up kept Peter from doing that. Strange took a good look at Peter and decided not to antagonize Tony further. The two adults helped ease Peter onto the hospital bed and Peter had to admit, it felt _really nice_ to finally lie down. “You said the kid hit his head?” Dr. Strange said. “Care to explain what happened?” Thankfully, Tony was around to fill the doctor in on what happened, especially since all Peter wanted to do was go to sleep. The more Tony explained, the more concerned and skeptical the doctor looked. “You’re trying to tell me an everyday vandal headbutted someone with enhanced spider-like qualities, superhuman strength, endurance and reflexes, _and_ accelerated healing, and said vandal was capable of doing this damage to him?”

Saying it out loud made Peter feel almost embarrassed. “It felt like his head was made of brick,” Peter said. “I’ve been hit in the head plenty, but never like this.”

“What are some of your symptoms?” Dr. Strange asked.

Peter frowned, because that question was not nearly as easy to answer as Dr. Strange may suspect. “Well, I’m actually doing okay,” Peter admitted. “Accelerated healing and everything. But when the guy first hit me, I was pretty dizzy and a little nausea. I felt like I was seeing double, too.”

“Are you not feeling those symptoms anymore?” Dr. Strange asked.

“Not so much,” Peter said. “I still feel kind of weak, but I don’t feel nausea anymore and the dizziness went away.”

Dr. Strange pursed his lips. “Headaches?”

“Somewhat,” Peter admitted. He wanted to minimize his injuries as much as possible— _he was fine, he was fine—_ but he was literally talking to Tony Stark, his (as the media kindly dubbed him) on-call stepdad, and Stephen Strange, pretty much the most powerful person on the planet. Lying to these two just didn’t make sense. “The headache was kind of bad on the way to the compound, but it’s somewhat faded now. Just throbs a little.”

“Those would be the typical symptoms of a concussion. You made a good choice calling me,” Dr. Strange said. “Have you ever taken a concussion baseline test before?”

“Yes, he has. I have the results here,” Tony said, going to one of the many tablets available in the makeshift infirmary.

This wasn’t the first time Peter had gone through concussion testing; after the fight at Coney Island and the Vulture had repeatedly bashed in him around, this was just one of the many medical procedures and tests Peter had endured per Tony’s request. Fortunately, Peter hadn’t suffered a concussion during that fight, but he still had to take this Impact Concussion Test, or something like that in case anything did happen in the future. Peter supposed it was paying off now. As Tony found the results of Peter’s former baseline test, Dr. Strange conducted some of the routine physical exams. He started with one of those doctor eye-checking pens— _halogen penlight,_ he believes—flashing them in both of Peter’s eyes. After finishing with that, Strange moved on without missing a beat, checking Peter’s balance, coordination, reflexes, memory and concentration. It was brutal, exhausting and, frankly, Peter couldn’t tell if the headache was from these exams, fatigue or a concussion. Maybe all. No rest for Peter, though. Next came the Impact Baseline Test. It was the same as Peter remembered: the same memory questions— _which shapes belong, what order of words do you remember_. It was monotonous. Draining.

“Can I please be done now?” Peter asked after he was finished taking the test and submitting the results.

Strange didn’t even respond to Peter, still looking at his notes. “There doesn’t seem to be any indication of a concussion,” he said with furrowed brows. “You showed no signs of disorientation, poor balance and your reflexes all responded properly. Your pupils look normal.” Strange flicked his wrist across the tablet on the counter across from him. “And your test results are far from abnormal.”

Peter didn’t care much for the medical jargin, as simplified as it may be. “So, I’m fine? No concussion?”

“If your description of your concussion symptoms were accurate, you had all the signs of a concussion,” Strange said. He set the tablet aside. “You likely suffered a mild concussion in the midst of your fight, but you may very well be healed already.”

“So, I’m fine,” Peter said. He rolled off the hospital bed and turned to Tony, who was quietly leaning against the CT scanner as though it wasn’t an incredibly expensive piece of medical equipment. “Can I go home now or are there more tests I need to take?”

“Not so fast,” Dr. Strange interjected, pushing Peter back on the hospital bed with a surprising amount of strength. “Regardless of your seemingly miraculous recovery, most people take two to four weeks to fully recover from a concussion and the absolutely worse thing you can do is push yourself too much. You need to rest."

Peter tried to keep himself for laughing out loud. Like that was going to happen. Spider-Man aside, Peter had too many responsibilities to just modify what he was doing. “Very funny. Look, I don’t know what ‘protecting our reality looks like’, but I have homework and school. It’s not like I can explain to my teachers why I’m not doing homework right now.”

Tony looked like he was positively fuming. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Don’t worry so much about school, but maybe take a break from decathlon for a couple of days. I’m sure I can talk to Michelle about that.” Tony was already a few steps ahead of Peter, his phone out and briskly typing something, probably a text. “And rounds. Let’s just hold off for a few days.”

Peter desperately wanted to argue, especially because this ‘protecting Peter’ was starting to feel like punishing Peter. “Come on! Mr. Stark, _I’m fine._ Dr. Strange even said—” Peter stopped short. The tablet in Tony’s hand began to shake… no, not shake. Vibrate. Tony glanced at the screen and back up at Strange and Peter with a beleaguered look on his face. “What is that?”

Tony ignored Peter. With a flick of his fingers, a holograph of Colonel Rhodes popped up in front of the three of them. Rhodes, one of Tony’s oldest friends and one of the only remaining members of Avengers, was staring at them. He looked… _bad._ He was in the War Machine get-up, this sleek steel gray and black metal uniform, but it looked like he had just gone through combat. It was marred with dirt and grime. His brows were knit together, lips pulled into a frown. Rhodes looked absolutely _exhausted._ What the hell happened to him? 

“Rhodes,” Tony said. “Thank god you’re okay. What happened? Did you find them?”

 _Them?_ Rhodes altogether glared at Tony. “You sure you want me discussing this in front of the kid?” The colonel asked, as though Peter wasn’t even in the room.

Peter had the sudden urge to defend himself. After the disaster that happened with the Vulture and how much of that could have been avoided if Tony had just been transparent with Peter, a feat which still hung over Tony and Peter’s head, Peter had only assumed that the adults were past treating Peter like a kid who was supposed to be kept in the dark for the sake of his own protection. “If something is wrong, don’t you think I’d have the right to know? I could help,” Peter offered. Saying this was definitely testy, especially since Peter could only assume that there was way more missions Tony was a part of that Peter didn’t know about.

“The kid is fine. What happened?” Tony said, but Peter could hear the edge in Tony’s voice. “You look like you just got shot to hell.”

Rhodes looked unconvinced to say the least and his eyes stared into Peter’s for a long moment. Finally, Rhodes let out a resounded sigh, rubbing his fingers against his creased forehead. “Well, Rogers and the others were definitely at the train station.”

 _That_ caught Peter’s attention. Last year, Peter, Tony and Vision were enlisted by the UN to take down the Secret Empire, a crime syndicate located in Europe. Things went wrong and Peter was about to become bad guy dinner when _the_ Scarlet Witch, Captain America, Black Widow and the Falcon saved his ass and helped Tony with finishing off the mission. Technically those four were war criminals so just being in the same room as Captain America was enough to land Peter in the Raft, but they saved Peter’s life and that was enough for Tony to keep the four alive _and_ to keep Thaddeus Ross in the dark about why that mission was successful. Ever since then, talking about the other Avengers was off the table. Even the faint mention of anything Captain America related caused Tony to retreat for days at a time. The news, which was a constant reminder to Tony of the existence of the remaining Avenger members, surely didn’t help either. It seemed like every month there was a new report of these former Avengers taking down these different mercenaries or criminals from around the world. Thaddeus Ross’s men were thirsty to find the four of them, but at no success. No one could get a picture of Steve, Natasha, Wanda and Sam—with Natasha’s spy expertise, they were just too good at working in the shadows and leaving no traces of themselves. The world just assumed that the taking down of such violent criminals had to be the handiwork of the former Avengers.

“I caught wind of them in Galway,” Rhodes said. “Some of the Council’s men figured out where Steve and the others were hiding so—”

Peter couldn’t the words from coming out of his mouth. “You’re trying to turn them in? You’re _working_ with Ross?” There was still plenty of wounds that cut too deep between Tony and Steve for that relationship to simply heal overnight, but Peter didn’t think the friction was bad enough to cause Tony to have his best friend aid in getting Steve and the others arrested. “You know exactly what Ross is capable of! If he finds them, Ross will kill them.”

“It’s not that simple,” Rhodes said. “Thaddeus Ross is on his last leg. The UN is eager to get the man replaced, so he’s hellbent on finding Steve and the others because he thinks he’ll win back the heart of the UN and all the countries who signed the Sokovia Accords. There’s no kill order out on Steve and the others, but that’s because Ross wants them punished in every public manner possible. Public hearings. Public sentencings. Every possible secret and mistake Steve Rogers and the others had ever made dragged out and picked apart for the public to hear.” His eyes were wide with anger, his bottom lip practically quivering with emotion. “The World Security Council bought into the Sokovia Accords and now all their resources are directed at finding Steve and the others. There isn’t a criminal in the world that matters to Ross right now.”

“That’s why Vision is in meetings all day,” Tony said. “Every resource, every officer, every pair of eyes that are within Ross’s grasp and fall under the jurisdiction of the Sokovia Accords are trained on Steve Rogers, which means any threat the World Security Counsel was monitoring is now tossed aside. There’s a lot of potential Avenger-level threats—we’re talking terrorists, regimes, insurgents, the works—just begging for its opportunity to show the world the kind of damage they can do and there’s no one to protect the people from collateral damage. Hell, there are threats here even in New York just itching to get out from the underground network.” Peter held his breath. 

“It’s job-climbing, bureaucratic bullshit at its finest, but the world can’t see that because Ross is hiding behind lies and deception, parading around this ‘it’s in the Accords best interest’ nonsense,” Rhodes said, bitterly.

“So, what are you two doing about it?” Peter asked. “Why are you trying to find Steve and the others?”

“We’re trying to find a compromise,” Rhodes admitted. The word _compromise_ seemed to silly at a time of such heightened anger, but Peter didn’t say anything and just kept listening. “There’s plenty of people in the UN and some of the higher ups in the World Security Council who are no longer interested in pushing Ross’s _policies._ Right now, Vision is doing everything he can to sway the opinion of the dignitaries in charge, but until then the least we can do is to help keep the bad guys off of Rogers’ tail. We’re thinking if we get enough support from the World Security Council and the UN, we can at least get Rogers in a room and talk about a compromise to get them all pardoned. We’re gambling, yes, but the world knows Steve hasn’t stopped protecting it and that has to count for something. That way, instead of wasting government time and taxpayer money on trying to catch Captain America, we can focus on legitimate threats and maybe implement some of the reform to the Sokovia Accords people are asking about.”

There was a long moment of silence as Rhodes’ angry speech settled in. Peter wasn’t quite up to date with what the Sokovia Accords was doing to the world, but he understood protecting people from real threats versus sacrificing the safety of others for personal gain. “Rhodes, focus,” Tony said. “What happened on the mission?”

Rhodes stared at Tony for a long second. Clearly, there was more that Rhodes wanted to say but the man had more self-control than Peter had expected. “What do you think? Ross’s trigger-happy men is what happened,” Rhodes grumbled. “Natasha was finally ready to get out from the shadows and show herself when the gunfire started. Thankfully, no one was hurt—let’s face it, Ross’s soldiers can’t hold a candle to SHIELD’s best spy and a super solider. They probably think I set them up or something. There’s no way they’re ever going to trust me again.”

“Did Ross’s men see you?” Tony asked.

“I don’t think so,” Rhodes said. “At least, I haven’t heard anything on the UN said that suggests I’m wanted for treason yet.”

Tony sighed. “Keep your head down for a while.”

“This could all be over if you just called Steve,” Rhodes said. 

Whatever Rhodes was referring to, it clearly got a reaction out of Tony, who clenched up. Tony absolutely glared at Rhodes. “We’ve talked about this. And that’s just not an option.”

“Why not?” Rhodes was glaring right back at Tony. “That cell phone was a promise that Steve would be here when you needed him.” _Call Steve? A cell phone?_ As far as Peter was concerned there was no way to contact the disavowed Avengers, not to mention the fact that Peter wasn’t even sure Mr. Stark wanted to contact his former teammates. Strange seemed just as concerned, though not nearly as confused as Peter. “I think this sounds like a pretty big need right now. We get them here. We can protect them. There’s no way the World Security Council is going to order an assault on the Avengers’ Compound. And if they do, Mr. Magic Hands over there alone is enough to hold off whatever agents are thrown our way.”

“Master of the Mystic—” Strange started but stopped himself, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “Oh, never mind. And frankly, I’m not sure I’m interested in your little squabble with the World Security Council.”

“As much as I would enjoy giving Ross a good repulsor ray to the chest, I’m not sure picking a fight with the him would be in our best interest,” Tony said. “And it surely wouldn’t help clear Steve Rogers’ name as much as it would get us all arrested or killed. I’ll call Steve when we know we have the support of the United Nations and the World Security Council. Until then, we wait.”

Rhodes didn’t look satisfied with where this conversation had gone, but based on the look of Tony’s face, it was clear this conversation was over. “I need to get going,” Rhodes finally said after a long moment of silence. “I’ve been hiding out in this spot for too long and I need to get to shelter. I’ll keep you updated if anything else happens.” 

“Be careful. I’m here if you need anything,” Tony said. 

With a swish of Rhodes’ fingers, the hologram disappeared, leaving behind a frustrated looking Tony and a very stunned Peter. Silence settled among the three for a long second as they began to think about the implications of the conversation they just had. Peter couldn’t believe his ears. Following the fall of SHIELD a few years ago, the World Security Council was defunct for a couple years as governments across the world investigated the deep roots of corruption and betrayal. In 2016, following the schism in the Avengers, the Council was recreated. They partnered with UN after the signing of the Sokovia Accords to make sure that the remaining Avenger members followed them and to continue with monitoring any potential threats around the world. They were pretty secret and quiet—focusing strictly on finding ways to support world security and gaining back the public’s trust. The fact that they were sticking their necks out for public outrage by targeting Steve Rogers— _Captain America,_ the world’s number one soldier and defender of freedom—must have meant that Thaddeus Ross had a lot of fuel behind his rampage.

“What’s going to happen if Ross finds Steve and all the others?” Peter asked. The only response Peter elicited from Tony was a deeply saddened and agitated expression. That was enough for Peter’s imagination to kick in. Frankly, Peter figured the Raft Prison would be a dream compared to what Tony suspected Ross wanted to do.

“I should get going,” Strange said, cutting through the silence. “Do you want me to take the kid home?”

Tony shook his head. “No. No, that’s okay. I can take him back,” Tony said, extending his hand again, which Dr. Strange took quickly. “When should I expect another visit from you?”

Dr. Strange looked gravely at Tony. “Not soon,” he admitted. “I’ll be in Kamar-taj, among other dimensions and realities. New recruits in need of proper training. And a few… _individuals_ that need to be dealt. Wong will be temporarily watching the Sanctorum, so if you are in need of dire help, he will be available for a short period of time. I can see myself out.” Peter couldn’t possibly wrap his head around what Dr. Strange was saying, other than the fact that it was truly _awesome_ how the guy could travel from dimension to dimension, speaking about that as if it were as easy as traveling from Queens to Manhattan. Dr. Strange was about to leave the infirmary, when he turned back and said with a smile, “I will say, though, if Mr. Parker suffers anymore brain injuries, Wong will not be a great substitute. Any other doctor will suffice.”

“Severus Snape, did you just crack a joke?” Tony said.

Strange scowled. “I hope to see you soon, Mr. Stark.” Tony and Peter couldn’t say another word in edgewise because the doctor was already gone.

* * *

“Did you sleep _at all_ last night?” May asked in a disapproving tone. 

Peter was standing in the middle of his kitchen, already running late for when MJ was going to be over at 8:30 this morning for breakfast before volunteering at Chinatown. Having just rolled out of bed and was running to get a towel to take a shower, Peter hasn’t had the chance to look at his appearance. Based on May’s look of disbelief, Peter must not have looked great. The truthful answer was no, he didn’t get a perfect nights’ sleep. He got home late last night, probably two in the morning, and kept waking up every hour or so. He wasn’t sure if it was the paranoia that he would die in his sleep as a result of the concussion (to which Dr. Strange vehemently argued that this was, in fact, _very_ unlikely) or the fear that he was going to sleep in… which he did anyway. Honestly, Peter didn’t regret sleeping in a little bit, especially since Dr. Strange encouraged Peter to rest and he felt surprisingly good considering he was sporting a concussion, even briefly, last night. He woke up feeling thoroughly healed. No headaches. No nausea. 

“I’m fine. Late night,” Peter said. He didn’t mention the concussion and definitely wouldn’t mention what happened with the vandal. That conversation would only happen if Tony or the media sold Peter out. “Gotta take a shower.”

She paused, eyes narrowing. “Okay,” she finally said, turning back to her newspaper. “You need it. You smell like a dog.”

“Thanks May,” Peter muttered, but he seized the opportunity to escape to the bathroom without further questioning. He yanked a towel out of the hallway closet, raced to the bathroom and flipped the shower on. He moved fast, _Spider-Man fast_ , to avoid keeping MJ waiting. Out of the shower and dressed in a matter of minutes, Peter hurried to his bedroom. His phone was already going off—a test from MJ saying that she was already on her way over. It was one of the few times she’s ever offered to drive him places, but he figured it would make more sense to take her more practical car over his hand-me-down Audi from Tony. When MJ showed up, they had breakfast at Peter’s place, which was nothing more than some toast, eggs and lots of coffee. 

“Thanks for coming with me,” MJ said as she settled into the chair in front of Peter’s kitchen table. She seemed quieter than usual, perhaps a result of the conversation they had yesterday, but if she was still feeling any pain, she was doing her best to hide it. 

“No problem,” Peter said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Do you guys have everything you need?” May asked. “Forms are all filled out? You have enough gas? And you know how to get there?”

MJ smiled, politely, even though Peter felt like May was smothering them. “I think we’re all set,” MJ said with a genuine smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. If you are.” 

They finished eating the rest of their breakfast, put the dishes into the sink and were off. It wasn’t too far of a drive to Chinatown, which was good because traffic was starting to get pretty bad for a Sunday morning and Peter didn’t want MJ to worry about driving. The closer they got to Chinatown, the more populated the streets became as people desperately searched for any last parking spots. Chinatown was a hot spot for tourism and for business, so it wasn’t a surprise to Peter to see that this part of town was busy. Plus, it was a weekend so that made it even worse. When Peter spotted an open parking spot a couple blocks away from Chinatown, Peter insisted that it would be the best spot they would see for a couple of blocks. MJ expertly parallel parked into the spot. Because the streets were pretty busy, MJ crawled through to the passenger side to get out of the car.

“It’s a nice day outside,” MJ said as Peter helped her out of the car.

Peter nodded. He closed the door behind her. “Yeah, it is,” he said. He took a deep breath — even from here, Peter could still smell the familiar fish scent that permeated throughout Chinatown and the streets near the place. Uncle Ben liked to come to Chinatown at least once a month to enjoy the food and street life. Peter always looked forward to these trips. After Uncle Ben died, Peter and May tried to continue on with the tradition, but it was difficult with all the surfacing memories. And this was before Peter had learned to cope with his emotional trauma and distress. Coming here now, he wasn’t sure what kind of bad memories were going to surface, but he was confident that he could handle.

“Everything alright?” MJ asked.

Peter nodded. “Yeah.”

“No headaches? Dizziness?” MJ said. 

Peter swallowed back the immediate urge to roll his eyes and verbally groan. “Tony sold me out?”

MJ smiled. “He texted me last night about the concussion.” When MJ caught sight of Peter’s obvious disapproval of Tony’s action, she quickly continued. “He’s worried about you… and I am, too. Gunfights and criminals and danger. I can’t lose you.”

Peter wanted to be annoyed, especially because he was fine and it really wasn’t necessary to bother MJ with this, but all traces of frustration dissipated by the look of genuine concern on MJ’s face. “It’s healed,” Peter said. He took MJ’s hand and gently interlocked his fingers with hers. He lifted her hand to press a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “I’m okay, MJ. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She nodded, a look of obvious apprehension on her face, but that look disappeared as she cracked a smile. “I’m always worried about you, Spider-Man. You ready to go?” she said after a long moment.

“Yeah,” Peter said.

The closer they got to Chinatown, the more and more Peter recognized the place. The streets grew narrower and narrower, the conversation grew louder and louder. The buildings were just as colorful as Peter remembered, too: bright shades of yellow and reds with splashes of greens of oranges. It was all so familiar from every booth and store in sight, to every crack in the street that Peter remembered jumping over as Ben and May trailed behind him, hand in hand. Because MJ and Peter had left so early, they had plenty of time to spare before they needed to check in at the soup kitchen. They stopped at a couple of boutiques to admire the lanterns and sculptures and all the ornate knickknacks. It was rare for MJ to get too excited about anything so seeing her eyes light up at the antiques made Peter feel just as excited. They were here for volunteering, not shopping… but seeing how happy MJ was, especially after the seriousness of their last conversation, made it a lot harder for Peter to want to leave.

“See anything you like?” Peter asked.

MJ rolled her eyes. “Relax, Parker. I don’t need you to get everything I like just because you’re dating me.”

Peter snorted. “What are you kidding? I’m totally broke. I was going to text Mr. Stark and have him buy something for you.”

“Wow. Didn’t realize Stark was your sugar daddy,” MJ said. She rolled up her sleeves and glanced at her watch. “Alright. We’ve been here for long enough. We should get to the soup kitchen early so that you can meet Mr. Li.”

The name immediately sent a light bulb off in Peter’s head, as well as initiated flashes of childhood memories. “Wait, we’re working with Mr. Li?” Peter exclaimed.

MJ cocked her arm back and was about to hit Peter in the arm, but the spider-senses made Peter lean back gracefully. She didn’t even seem phased that she missed. “Yes… I thought you said you read about this volunteering program last night.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed red. “Well, I mean, it’s just that—” So the spider-senses kept Peter from getting hit by MJ, but it didn’t stop him from saying stupid things. “Okay, I read the mission statement thing for the volunteer program and I filled out the waiver. I just didn’t look at much else,” he stammered. MJ looked a little annoyed, but Peter continued the conversation before she could say anything. “He owns a really popular restaurant around here, right?”

He didn’t need MJ to confirm his question for him. May and Uncle Ben used to visit Mr. Li’s restaurant at least once month, if not more often. Even though Peter had only met Mr. Li once or twice, he felt the man was a close family friend. Uncle Ben talked animatedly about Mr. Li _all_ the time, even though the two had only known each other a few years prior before Peter moving in with May and Ben. According to Uncle Ben, Mr. Li had a pretty interesting backstory: Martin Li came to the United States as an immigrant with his wife in his early twenties. They moved to Manhattan thinking that their life would be better. It was, at first. They found success in their restaurant early and made a home for themselves amongst the business owners here in Chinatown. But their happiness didn’t last. His wife was killed in some accident almost ten years ago; they never had the chance to have kids, which apparently was a dream the two had. Peter really sympathized with Mr. Li, even though they only met once. Peter understood what it felt like to lose your family. Not to mention, Mr. Li’s food was a delicacy in the Parker household, so Peter had a lot of respect for the man.

“Yeah,” MJ said as they hurried through the busy streets, dodging people as best as they could. “I’m guessing you know Mr. Li?”

“Sort of. Uncle Ben was a big fan,” Peter explained. “I know about the soup kitchen in Chinatown, but I didn’t realize Mr. Li was the one who ran it.”

“It’s a bigger passion to him than cooking, and you know how much Mr. Li loves his food. He opened the soup kitchen a couple years after his wife passed around. He spends the entire morning at the soup kitchen until his restaurant opens up, and then his partner takes over for him.” The two rounded the block and Peter immediately spotted the soup kitchen: a brown brick building with a huge blue banner hanging off the roof. Etched on the banner were the words _FEAST PROJECT: SOUP KITCHEN._ “Here we are,” MJ said. 

The website for the soup kitchen said that it wouldn’t open until 11:00, which was a little less than an hour away, yet there already people lining up from the front door and down the street. And all sorts of people, too. Old. Young. All ethnicities. And families. _Young children,_ most grasping onto the hands of their parents and some by themselves, looking around nervously. Peter didn’t do a lot of volunteer work considering how busy he got with juggling school and Spider-Man but seeing how far the line went back made Peter feel pretty shitty about not doing more for the community. 

All the volunteers were supposed to go through the backdoor, which led directly into the kitchen. There were tons of volunteers bustling already around to set up, some glancing through the papers attached to clipboards, others wiping down tables and a few still preparing the food. Considering how many volunteers there were coupled with the sheer amount of food that needed to be made to feed everyone lining up _and_ all the tables that filled the rest of the restaurant, Peter had to admit that this place was pretty big. Most volunteers were still in the kitchen, which was filled with a surprising amount of dishwashers, massive stoves, ovens, frying stations, huge fridges, and bowls on bowls on bowls. It was an open kitchen, and the island that separated the tables from the kitchen was clearly were the soup was to be served. Judging by the setup of the room, Peter gathered that people would first grab a bowl off the plastic table near the opening that looks into the kitchen; then, they get whatever soup they wanted. Next, they’d walk to another plastic table covered with a tablecloth, on top of which were two massive baskets filled with different types of bread and a small bowl of packaged butter. The last two stations were beverages and utensils.

Peter wasn’t sure how long MJ had been volunteering here, but when Peter and MJ walked inside, the entire room lit up. Several volunteers, most of them on the older side and dressed in aprons, hairnets and plastic gloves, exclaimed MJ’s name. An older lady with pale, withered skin and warm brown eyes wearing a name tag that had _Donna_ etched in neat scrawl, stopped what she was doing to come hug MJ. “I’m so glad you could make it today,” she said, keeping her hands around MJ’s wrists. When the old lady caught sight of Peter, she beamed. “And this must be the boyfriend!” The lady, without any hesitations, engulfed Peter in her arms. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Hopefully good things,” Peter said. There weren’t any mirrors in sight, so Peter wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he felt like a stammering, awkward, tomato-faced kid. 

“Everyone come meet MJ’s boyfriend!” Donna exclaimed.

“Oh no,” MJ muttered.

She gave Peter a sheepish smile just as almost all the volunteers from the soup kitchen came up to Peter. He was passed along from person to person to be hugged or to have his hand shaken as though every volunteer already knew Peter. They had so nicely come up to him to introduce themselves and as soon as they said their name, it went in one ear and out there and not by lack of trying. _Thank god_ for the nametags because Peter was just couldn’t remember that names and the last thing he wanted to do was come off rude, especially with how kind they’re being right now. He had just finished explaining his fake Stark Internship for the third time to someone named Jacqueline before he managed to make his way back to MJ. She was watching Peter with an amused smile. “Sorry,” MJ said as she took his hand in hers. “Teenagers tend not to volunteer here that often so when young people are around, they get pretty excited, especially because all I’ve been doing is talking you up recently. Sorry…”

“It’s sweet,” Peter said. “They seem to really care about you.”

MJ shrugged, but Peter could see the corners of her lips curving into a smile. “I like being here. I feel like I’m home… serving all these people.” She stopped short. There was a hint of emotion in gleaming in her eyes before she gave Peter a joking smile. “Now get your gloves and apron on and try not to embarrass me.”

“When have I ever done that?” Peter said with a grin as he followed her instructions. “What are we in charge of today?”

“Serving bread,” MJ said. She led Peter to the plastic table where the bread was. “This bin is white bread and the other is wheat. Everyone gets one roll.”

“Do you normally do this station?” Peter said, playing with the tongs they were given.

MJ shook her head. “I normally do replenishment, which means I’m in charge of restocking the food, beverages and utensils. I asked to be here today so that you and I could do this together.”

“Oh okay. That was good planning ahead,” Peter joked.

“Of course. I’m not you,” MJ said with an equally joking tone. She looked up from the bread basket, a new smiling forming on her face. “Don’t act like a goof,” she muttered. “Mr. Li!”

Peter turned around to see Martin Li approaching the two of them, and he looked just as Peter had remembered him. For someone who’s been through so much during his lifetime, Martin still looked pretty young, very few wrinkles and even fewer gray hairs. That being said, his eyes gave away his age. They looked heavy, as though they had been currying a burden for years now. And weary. But those heavy brown eyes were warm, though, as he smiled at the two teenagers. His jet-black hair was smoothly combed down. He wore an apron with what looked like food bits and grease smeared across it. 

When he saw MJ, he held his hands out excitedly. “So nice to see you, MJ! You coming every Sunday really brightens up my day,” Mr. Li said as he gave MJ a one-armed hug. From the one or two conversations Peter had had with Mr. Li years ago, he had been expecting a much thicker accent, but it had faded quite bit now. 

“This is the highlight of my weekend,” MJ said. She looked over at Peter, who was watching the two of them with curiosity. “This is my boyfriend, Peter. The one I’m always talking about,” she added, which made Peter even more embarrassed.

Mr. Li turned to face Peter with raised eyebrows. At first, the man seemed skeptical of the new volunteer, and then, most likely recognizing Peter, he smiled. “Peter Parker? Ben Parker’s nephew?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me!”

“Oh, I haven’t seen you in forever! You’ve gotten so tall…” Mr. Li paused for a second, taking in Peter’s appearance, “ _and big._ You were this skinny little kid the last time I saw you. How are you? How is Ben and May?”

Peter cringed. He hated doing this, not to mention it’s been a couple years since Peter has had to break the news to anyone. “Um, Uncle Ben passed away a few years ago. Mugger.” This wasn’t first time Peter ran into an old friend-of-the-family and had to explain to them what happened with Ben. It wasn’t like it was getting easier having to tell someone that their friend died, but Peter was slowly figuring out the best way to break the news. The biggest thing he’s come to realize is that saying ‘mugger’ was enough of an explanation for whoever he was talking to, and they normally never asked follow-up questions. “But we’re doing okay. May and I are…” —moving on wouldn’t be the right phrase— “coping.”

Mr. Li frowned. Though Peter figured Mr. Li only knew Ben as a friendly and regular patron of his restaurant, Mr. Li looked pretty upset over the news. It was times like this that Peter also realized how many people Ben touched during his lifetime. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Mr. Li said, putting his hand on the teenager’s shoulder. “How is May?”

“She’s good. Holding up and everything,” Peter said.

“And you?”

It was a loaded question, not exactly one that people normally asked Peter when he drops the news of Uncle Ben’s death, but it really was amazing how such a simple question meant so much to Peter. “I’m doing better, thank you,” Peter said, politely. That grossly simplified Peter’s recovery process. Only, that answer seemed to perfectly and adequately sum up how his junior year was going for him, and how he hoped it would continue to go for him. _Better._ “I wish I had known about your soup kitchen earlier. I would’ve dragged May here to volunteer here with me.”

“There’s always the future,” Mr. Li said. “Come on. We’re about to start. I’ll come over to see how you guys are doing soon.”

“Okay,” MJ said, watching as Mr. Li walked away.

“I’m surprised he remembers me,” Peter said.

“Despite what you may think, you are pretty memorable,” she said. She paused for a second, watching as some of the volunteers set up the last table, which was apparently the check-in station near the front door of the soup kitchen. “‘Skinny little boy!’ Now I really want to know what you looked like prior to becoming you-know-who?”

“I didn’t become Voldemort,” Peter said with a feigned look of confusion.

For that comment, Peter decided to let MJ punch him in the arm.

Peter fell in love with the soup kitchen that day. It was tiring, he’ll admit, but that was nothing compared to what other people had to face in their lives. Volunteering there was a humbling experience. It made Peter realize that no matter what he was going through, someone was going through something equally as bad, if not worse. Peter was fortunate enough to have others there to support him during his trials; some of the people coming to the soup kitchen weren’t as lucky. Peter wasn’t sure how to react when he heard some of their stories: should he pity them? Try to help them? His tried not to let his own insecurities get in his way that day. He made sure his interactions were completely genuine as he got to hear stories from people with intense backgrounds. MJ was completely in her element, though, so Peter just tried to emulate what she was doing.

A lot of people recognized MJ, and MJ knew the names of some of the people here, too. She smiled warmly at every person that walked through, greeted the ones that she knew and excitedly learned the faces of the people she didn’t. Michelle Jones honestly amazed Peter. Her heart and spirit and love for other people, despite the front she put on at school, was really coming through right now. Seeing her smile around the volunteers here made Peter want to come every single Sunday. She was obviously comfortable here. And happy. And the fact that Peter could be a part of this made him equally as excited. Not to mention, Peter really liked being around the volunteers here. They were all so accepting and wise. When they had their breaks, they would come over and say cliché lines that made Peter and MJ laugh ( _“Don’t waste your youth. It goes by fast”_ or _“I remember what it was like to be young and in love and not have a care in the world”)._ It was kind of like having twenty grandparents, each with a unique personality.

Mr. Li was just as great of a person as Peter remembered Uncle Ben to describe him as. The FEAST project, which stood for Food, Emergency Aid, Shelter and Training, was somewhat of Mr. Li’s personal child. As Peter and MJ volunteered during the day, MJ told Peter bits and pieces of Mr. Li’s journey to creating this project. Living conditions in China and when he first moved to New York were difficult. Mr. Li never had a lot of money, so going hungry, being homeless, those were all too familiar to him. He wanted to do something with his life, help others like he wished he could have been helped. And when his wife died, those feelings intensified. Thus, the soup kitchen was born. It was a pretty small-scale thing, giving people a warm meal for the day, but this was just the start of Mr. Li’s FEAST project. He wanted to open more soup kitchens state-wide and then possibly nation-wide where food could be served regularly and there could be care-packages that people could take home with necessities. Just the way that the frequenters of the soup kitchen stopped to speak with Mr. Li, eyes full of adoration, made it obvious how much Mr. Li meant to these families, as though he was personally saving each of their lives by just providing warm meals for them. In fact, according to some of the volunteers, families visit Mr. Li and leave healthier, sicknesses seemingly _cured_ , aching pains disappearing. It was like his food was so good they were _healing_ his patrons.

“He seems like a good guy,” Peter said as they finished the last round of serving food.

MJ nodded. “He really is.” She looked at Mr. Li darkly before saying, “He knows about my dad, too. Well, he knows my dad isn’t the greatest and that we’ve been working with CPS for the past few months.”

“Does he know why?” Peter asked.

She hesitated, and Peter immediately recognized the expressionless, lost look in her eyes. The one Peter had seen so often during the past couple of years. She had always done such a great job at covering up her pain from Peter or anyone who may be interested in helping her. MJ had only been in therapy or group support sessions for a couple of months, and that was not nearly enough time to undo the trauma she had so tragically faced throughout her life. Trauma and secrets and suppressing feelings was riddled in her bones. The way she withdrew right now, with just the mere mention of CPS and her father, was an indicator enough that there was still plenty of progress to be made until she’s prepared to talk about her past; it wasn’t in Peter’s place to pry, either. “Not the details,” MJ admitted through clenched teeth. Her eyes were not nearly as blank as before. She feigned a half-hearted smile. “Then again, not a lot of people beside you and Mr. Kernan know the details.” 

“That’s okay,” Peter reassured. He reached his hand out, then hesitated, gauging her reaction. After years of her father abusing MJ and squashing any of her attempts to speak up, Peter was always so careful about consent and making sure that MJ was okay with any form of physical contact. Peter admittedly had grown so comfortable with handholding or kissing with MJ that he would sometimes forget to make sure if she was okay with it in the first place. Maybe it was overkill, but he would rather be overly precautious than hurt MJ, especially since Peter recognized how difficult it was for her to pull away or say _no_. She seemed okay with it now, noticing Peter’s hand and nodding quickly, so he interlocked his fingers with hers. “No one expects you to tell them the details.” Peter looked up to see an elderly man waiting in front of them. “Wheat or white bread, sir?”

“Wheat,” the man responded with a toothy smile. Peter served the last of his rolls. “Have a good day.”

“Yeah, you too,” Peter said politely. 

That was it for the day. Peter and MJ stuck around for a while longer to help Mr. Li clean up in the kitchen as well as wipe down some of the dirtied up tables people were sitting at to eat. Mr. Li had to leave a little earlier so that he could start setting up at his restaurant, which left some of the older volunteers in charge. They insisted that Peter and MJ take the rest of the day off. Something about it being too nice of a day and the two of them being too young not to be outside enjoying their lives.

“Really, it’s not that big of a deal,” MJ insisted as Donna, the volunteer who first introduced herself to Peter, ushered to get MJ and Peter out the door. “Why are you trying to get rid of us so fast? Did you not like Peter?”

Donna smiled. “Peter was fine. You two have already given up most of your day. Go enjoy the rest of us. Let the adults take care of everything.”

“We’re almost adults,” Peter tempted.

“Hogwash,” she said, shaking her head. “Peter, take MJ out to a nice dinner.” They were already at the door. “I hope to see you two next Sunday.”

“Of course,” MJ said. 

She said her goodbyes to the volunteers, which took a lot longer than Peter had anticipated with all the hugs and handshakes. Outside, the sun was shining, and the air smelled strongly of fish. They decided to go to one of the restaurants down here and get takeout for their families. MJ and Peter were both pretty swamped with homework, so they parted ways after MJ dropped Peter off back at his apartment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter said, standing outside of MJ’s car.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, again. “Maybe you and I could keep doing this together.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. May would love for me to do that.”

“I can text you the link again — and this time, _actually_ read it,” MJ said with a frown. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said. He knew how much she hated it when people called her ma’am. “I should probably get going. Don’t want the food to get cold.” 

Peter leaned down to kiss MJ on the forehead. She seized the opportunity to wrap her hands on his neck and kiss him even more fervently. Afterwards, MJ drove away so casually while Peter stood on the sidewalk, still reeling and breathless from the kiss. Peter felt euphoric all the way up the stairs and to his apartment, the feeling of MJ’s lips still lingering on his own and the warmth in his heart from doing something good for the community that didn’t involve being dressed in Spider-Man suit. It was selfish, how much he was looking forward to chasing this feeling again.

Peter thrust the door open to his apartment, a goofy smile still plastered on his face. “May? I’m home!” He called out as he tossed his apartment key onto the counter. The lights in the living room were still on and… Peter stopped short. Tony Stark’s shoes were by the front door. What was Tony Stark doing here? Had Peter forgotten about rounds or was Tony here to talk about the concussion from last night? “Uh, Tony? Hello?” 

It was great to see Tony and May get along as well as they had. At first, Peter was a little worried that Tony was only making an effort to get along with May because he thought she was pretty — just thinking that to himself made Peter shudder. Fortunately, it wasn’t like that. Tony respected May as Peter’s parent. Even though Tony went behind May’s back by giving Peter the suit, now that she knew about Peter’s identity, Tony made sure she was okay with whatever Peter was doing. With everything that unfolded last year, they came together to do whatever was best for Peter. All things considered, both Tony and May handled Peter’s PTSD well, _and_ they had no reserve accepting MJ for what she had gone through. Tony especially. His father wouldn’t exactly qualify for the ‘World’s Best Dad Award’ and that definitely could be said about MJ’s father, too. Peter wasn’t aware if Howard Stark had ever physically abused Tony, but that didn’t mean Tony couldn’t relate to MJ. 

May and Tony’s dynamic was so weird though, like they were two confused, divorced parents trying to raise their teenage kid. And right now, this didn’t seem normal _at all._ It wasn’t like Tony to show up at Peter’s house unannounced and it definitely wasn’t like Tony or May to not answer right away.

Peter heard footsteps coming from May’s bedroom. Tony rounded the corner, a box of tissues in hand. He looked absolutely beside himself, his face stone cold and pale. His lips, his hands, even his arms looked as though they were shaking. There couldn’t have been any threats around, and the spider-senses hadn’t activated, but Peter felt suddenly cold. And that feeling of fear only worsened as May trailed behind Tony. Her eyes were puffy and red. Makeup smeared. Skin completely flushed with emotion. She was grasping a few crumpled up, used tissues. And she looked like she was struggling to walk, holding on to Tony as he guided her to the couch. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. 

Peter was by his aunt’s side almost immediately, grabbing onto her hand, which felt cold as ice. “Tony,” Peter said, his voice shaking, looking to his mentor for answers. “What’s wrong?”

Tony put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Tony was shaking, though Peter couldn’t tell if it was out of anger, from the cold or something else. The man had this look of disgust and fear etched across his face. His lips were pursed into a thin line, fingers running through his disheveled brown hair. “The ambulance and police escort bringing that vandal to the hospital was attacked.”

May let out a choked sob. She closed her eyes for a long moment, more tears dripping down her cheeks. She pressed a hand against her chest… _her heart._ Peter’s mind wasn’t registering what that meant. _Attacked. Who would do something like that?_ He didn’t understand. He could barely manage comforting his aunt, who looked to be on the verge of an absolute emotional meltdown. “W-what?” Peter stammered.

“The vandal is gone. Someone had to have helped him—he was so badly wounded…” Tony managed. His eyes seemed to be a million miles away, as though in his head he was trying to figure out the next course of action.

“And all the paramedics?” Peter asked. “Are they okay? Do we need to go help?”

The grave look on Tony’s face was enough of an answer. _No._ Peter couldn’t believe it. It was silent for a second as the two of them tried to grasp the magnitude of the situation. Of their own failure. _They should have stayed with the paramedics._ Peter felt his legs wobble with the fear of what was about to come. He wanted to throw up. 

“Whoever must have rescued the vandal was strong,” Tony managed through clenched teeth. “The paramedics are all dead, Peter. There were no survivors.” 

A wordless moment fell upon the three, the only sound coming from May’s hiccupped cries. Peter felt that crippling guilt rearing its ugly head again. He hadn’t felt this way since last year… since Ben. Since the time he had collapsed at the cemetery. His fault. _No survivors._ They were just trying to do their job and if it hadn’t been for Spider-Man and Iron-Man trying to pick a fight with a graffiti artist this wouldn’t have happened. If Tony had just agreed to follow the paramedics to the hospital to treat the vandal, this wouldn’t have happened. 

_He failed._

_They failed._

“Did they have families?” May asked, quietly. 

It barely even registered that she was asking a question, and this wasn’t a question Peter wanted to hear the answer to either. He couldn’t stop himself from listening to what Tony uttered next. “A couple of them, yeah. Young kids. Wives,” Tony muttered. It made it all worse. Families who would suffer so much pain because of mistakes that Peter and Tony made. _Their fault. They’re supposed to protect the people of New York. Failed._ “The Stark Relief Foundation already has plans in motion to support the families.”

Money won’t help. God. Peter so desperately wanted to run. The burning his chest was getting worse. He felt like he couldn’t breath— “We need to find the vandal,” Peter said through clenched teeth. It wasn’t anxiety and guilt he was feeling anymore. It was anger. Pure, unequivocal anger that Peter had never felt before. Toward himself. Toward Tony. Toward the vandal. Toward whatever person rescued the vandal. “We’re going after him. We’re going to _find him.”_

Tony grabbed hold of Peter’s shoulder, a touch which would normally put Peter to ease but it was only fueling the anger he felt. “I know you want to do that—”

“We’re doing it,” Peter said. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“You’re angry,” Tony said. Peter knew Tony well enough to know that he was just as angry, but Tony was much more rational and much more in control. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re going to get someone killed.”

“We already did,” Peter snapped. He couldn’t just let the vandal get away. They may never even be able to catch the man that killed… _slaughtered_ all those innocent people.

Tony was unwavering in his stance. “We’re going to go after him.” That surprised Peter. He hadn’t expected his mentor to give in so quickly. “But not now.” Peter felt the urge to suddenly scream but swallowed that gut reaction as Tony continued. “This vandal and whoever his partner are dangerous. We don’t know what we’re up against and we have no idea where this vandal would be. I know how badly you want to go after this person, and I want to go after this morning just as badly as you. Let me do some research. Let me get FRIDAY on this and the second— _the second—_ I have a lead, we’re going after them.”

Peter stared into Tony’s eyes for a long moment. His expression was stern, but firm. There were no traces of lies or deception. It was truth. They would go after the vandal. They would find the person who killed all those paramedics. Some New York criminals seemed like a different breed of violent. No ethical code. Twisted crimes committed by twisted individuals. And each time Peter faced one of these criminals, he stayed strong. He webbed them up and let the proper authorities handle the rest. He managed it when the police found the man who killed Ben. He controlled himself when he found out where MJ’s father was keeping them after just disappearing in the middle of the night. Right now, Peter wasn’t sure if he could maintain that same level of control. The unnecessary violence and the silliness of the crime that spiraled into this terrible feat drove Peter into a mindset he never thought he’d reach…

 _His fault. They’re all dead. Wives. Family._ Peter’s mind didn’t seem to be working anymore. He went to bed that night too sick for dinner and too numb to think he was hungry in the slightest. Tony offered to stay the night in case Peter or May needed him, but they turned him down. Maybe they shouldn’t have… maybe Tony was just offering to stay the night because Tony didn’t want to be by himself. Or perhaps Tony was only offering it because he was afraid if he didn’t micromanage Peter, Peter would sneak out that night and do something dangerous. 

Peter was tempted to. He was sitting upright in his bed for a long that night, eyes transfixed at the Iron-Spider suit that was hanging in his closet. For the first time since he became Spider-Man, Peter seriously contemplated violating the only ethical code that he had. Peter wanted to find the vandal and his rescuer. And he wanted to hurt them. And not stop there. This was the first time Peter felt like he could be capable of killing.

He could feel himself spiraling again. His reality and his nightmares were starting to blur. 

Peter could see the vandal’s eyes looking back at him. As though the vandal was in the same room as Peter. The tingling in the back of his head was starting up again. _This can’t be true. The vandal isn’t here._ His heart was starting to race — his forehead felt suddenly damp and clammy — his chest was aching…

This can't be happening. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’s felt this way. The last time he was experienced a panic attack.

He grasped onto his chest, as though that would do anything to help him. _Deep breath in. Deep breath out._ The strategies Dr. Strange taught him last year? What were the strategies? Peter couldn't remember. Nothing seemed to matter right now. 

_Collateral damage._

Peter stopped trying to prevent the panic attack. He let himself feel the pain and anguish he hadn’t felt in so long. He curled up against the frame of his bed, clutching his arms together and cried. He covered his mouth to prevent his sobs from coming out too louder. He didn’t want May to hear. He couldn’t rope her in to this pain. 

_Failed._


	3. Helping the People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter really highlights the ugliness and violence Peter has to face during the course of this story, so please be weary of gun violence and trauma throughout the course of this chapter. Bear with me, I promise it gets better and Peter gets more answers in the coming chapters.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Helping one person might not change the whole world,_

_but it could change the world_

_for one person”_

Chapter Three: Helping the People

Peter didn’t sleep that night. From both the anger burning in his heart and the restlessness that came with the intense, crippling and absolutely _horrible_ feeling of guilt pressed down against Peter’s chest like it was a 100-pound weight. As Peter laid in his bed, still so worked up about what happened— _they should have stayed with the paramedics who cares about his stupid concussion?_ —all he could really think about was how much he wanted to go on rounds. He was Spider-Man. He was supposed to protect Queens and New York from atrocities like what happened to the paramedics. Peter felt like a mistake. A screw-up. The weight of his and Tony’s errors only made things worse. But more than anything else, he felt stupid. Considering the vandal got a jump on Spider-Man _and_ Iron-Man, how could the police officers stand a chance, even as badly injured as the vandal had been in the fight?

The guilt eating Peter up on the inside was turning into rage. Someone had to pay for what happened to the paramedics and turning them in to the police didn’t seem like it would suffice. There was a fighting urge to throw his sheets off his bed, put the suit on and go on a rampage. Find every criminal in Queens and every hiding place they have and inflict every ounce of pain they’ve caused to New York back on them. But, Peter knew himself well enough to know that he wasn’t in the right physical or mental condition to go on rounds. The concussion aside, all this anger and guilt and pain was messing with Peter’s spider-senses. Everything felt like a threat, right now. And that infuriated Peter even more. The helplessness of this whole situation felt even worse than the concussion he suffered or the aching shoulder muscles. The only thing that could get Peter to calm down was sitting dejectedly in his bed the whole night, his mask on. Karen was synced with the police radio so if there was any serious crime, Peter would be alerted. He agreed with himself that the _only_ reason he would leave his bed was if there was any inkling of the vandal surfacing in New York.

In between listening to the quiet and surprisingly rare chatter of the police radio, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about the paramedics and their families. After Peter’s parents and Ben had been killed, one of the primary concerns the officers on those cases had was Peter and May… _the family of the victims._ What could Spider-Man do to help those families? Money could help with the little things, and that was what the Stark Relief Foundation was for. But money can’t replace the emptiness and gaping hole of losing someone you love. Maybe he could say something to them, or was that creepy? The more Peter thought about the families, the angrier he got. There was nothing Spider-Man could do. It was selfish to think that his presence or his decisions could do anything to alleviate that level of pain. He can’t control everything, and he can’t help everyone either. 

He got ready for school that coming Monday absolutely silently. May was quiet, too. She was still reeling, quietly flicking through the channels of the news as she slowly got ready for breakfast. Word about what happened with paramedics spread. Every channel was talking about some angle of the story: who the paramedics were, any leads the police had, any available angle the news could find from the fight between the vandal and Spider-Man and Iron-Man. _You failed_. He ate, got dressed, packed his bags and kissed May goodbye without saying a single word. 

Like every day, he picked Ned up for school. There were a million things Peter wanted to say to Ned. A million emotions Peter wanted to share. When Peter felt like he couldn’t talk to Tony or MJ, Ned was the person he would turn to. Peter liked having Ned around. They’ve been friends for so long that they were at that point in their relationship where they could talk to each other freely about what’s happening in their respective lives without worrying about judgement. Ned loved every facet of Spider-Man. He could gossip about the latest Spider-Man suit design, geek out over the new AI update in the suit and could go on for hours and hours analyzing Peter’s new fighting techniques. There was a time and place for this unfettered enthusiasm and unconditional love for Spider-Man and the good that he brought to New York. Now wasn’t that time. Peter honestly felt like he wasn’t sure if there would ever be a time for unconditional Spider-Man love again.

Ned knew about what happened. The entire drive to school, it was clear how Ned was trying to be stoic, but he wasn’t good at that. He was always transparent with his emotions, which was one of the problems Peter had with sharing problems with Ned. His eyes especially were a dead giveaway. This look of sadness and genuine shock. Terror. _Pity._ And that was the worst. Peter didn’t deserve pity. 

“Are you okay?” Ned finally asked when Peter pulled into the parking lot at Midtown; there were still people that seemed to forget that Peter had the Audi because they gasped, stared and pointed. It was the first time they had really spoke during the car ride, which had been filled with nothing but heavy silence and fleeting glances from Ned in Peter’s direction. “We can skip if you want…”

Peter felt his core twist up. Ned was a good friend and a good student, too. He would never offer to skip unless he thought something was seriously wrong with Peter. The immediate urge to downplay how Peter was feeling spewed out of him in a mess of words. “No, man. I’ll be okay. Just need to process what happened.” He threw the door of his car closed and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “I just don’t think this really helps with the guilt complex, you know?” That was something Peter had talked to Ned about, and something they both shared. It wasn’t just an Avengers’ complex. It was a human thing. Guilt. Feeling guilty about making it through events unscathed and relatively unharmed when others suffered. Feeling guilty about the opportunities you’ve had that others haven’t.

“At least you’re not the Scarlet Witch,” Ned said.

Peter frowned. He didn’t know too much about Wanda Maximoff, but Peter knew she’s made some pretty big mistakes while she’s had her powers, from putting nightmares into all the Avengers’ heads to accidentally setting fire to the hospital in Lagos. That was true. Peter had never done anything to that scale, but everyone’s guilt and everyone’s pain was different. It wasn’t fair to himself to minimize his feelings just because the scale of his mistakes wasn’t that grand. But Peter also knew his friend was just trying to help. _Repress. You’re okay._ “Yeah… I guess that’s true. It just feels like my fault. And I’m just scared if things get worse and if I don’t find the person who did this, I’m gonna revert back to what happened last year.”

That was definitely not something Peter normally brought up. Ned immediately recognized the severity and weight of what Peter was saying. “Come on, dude, look at how far you’ve come since last year,” Ned said. “Besides, you’ve got Tony Stark and MJ… and _me._ Plus, Dr. Strange is basically your on-call therapist. We’re not going to let anything happen.”

They were inside the school now and by their lockers. “Where the hell did you get that from?” Peter asked as he twisted the combination into the lock and yanked the door open to get his textbooks out.

“Where did I get what from?”

“I’ve heard of on-call stepdad but on-call therapist?” Peter repeated. “Seriously, if Dr. Strange heard you say that he’d probably blast you to a completely different dimension.”

Ned gasped. “Dude, that’s _awesome_.” Peter’s best friend shook his head quickly, as though trying to knock the fantasy growing in his mind out in order to answer Peter’s question. His genuine excitement brought a slight twinge of levity to the situation, but that disappeared quickly. “Anyway, that’s what the news is saying. There was this tabloid article in the papers about how Dr. Strange is taking care of Spider-Man’s psychological and emotional problems and Iron-Man is basically his mentor. Seriously, don’t you read?”

Peter laughed. A real one, too. He used to be really obsessed with any type of coverage the news had on Spider-Man, regardless of the credibility of these sources. His priorities have really shifted recently, and Peter stopped himself from going down the rabbit hole of looking through news about himself. “Come on, man,” Peter said. “You know I only look at real news sources.”

“Hey! Those are hardworking New Yorkers!” Ned exclaimed. “Some of them are pretty funny, actually. I could send you a link if—”

Something distracted Peter from responding to or listening to the rest of Ned’s sentence. “Where the hell was Spider-Man?” a harsh voice said. The sound of Peter’s name (or at least the name of the identity he assumed in secret) was enough for Peter’s heightened hearing to stop registering what Ned was saying to picking out the conversation Gwen Stacy and Betty Brant, two seniors on the decathlon team, were having from across the hall. Peter immediately recognized the voice of whoever spoke: Betty. And she sounded angry. “All those people died and if Spider-Man hadn’t been so concerned about stopping graffiti artists or helping lost old ladies, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. And don’t get more wrong, those are people who should be stopped or should be helped, but all those paramedics died.”

Peter let himself choke on the guilt that brought. Betty didn’t know about Peter’s secret identity and definitely didn’t realize that he was listening to their conversation, so Betty had no idea how much her words hurt him. But even if they did know Peter’s secret identity, would that change how they feel? It shouldn’t. Peter should have done something or been there for the paramedics. He could have saved them… And knowing that the suspect could get away with what they did made everything worse. He felt like someone had punched him in jaw. 

“You don’t know that. Spider-Man can’t be expected to stop every terrible thing happening in New York,” Gwen said. “And for your information, that person that killed at those paramedics happened to be a graffiti artist that Spider-Man _was_ trying to stop.”

Betty frowned. “Well, what was Spider-Man doing _after_ the police and paramedics showed up? Isn’t this the exact kind of thing Spider-Man _and Iron-Man_ are there for?”

“They just didn’t know,” Gwen whispered. “You can’t save everyone.” It’s sad how realistic Gwen knew that statement was. Peter could only guess why Gwen was defending the masked vigilante. Her father was a police officer, so she likely witnessed firsthand what it was like for someone to struggle with a guilt complex for not being able to save every person in New York. “And you heard what the news said. The vandal was injured in the fight. There was no reason to think that something like this was going to happen.” 

“I know…,” Betty whispered, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder. She didn’t sound nearly as angry, but just as frustrated. “I just thought this was the kind of stuff Spider-Man was—”

 _BANG!_ Something hard hit Peter and he nearly fell. Distracted with what Betty and Gwen were saying, both of whom had stopped mid-conversation to see what the commotion was, Peter didn’t realize that he was nearing the staircase that led to the second floor. Rather than going up the stairs, Peter hit the trashcan beside the entrance. Judging eyes snapped to look at Peter, including Ned’s, though he was more concerned than anything else. Peter completely flushed red and passed it off as a joke. He stopped listening to what Gwen and Betty were saying, knowing that hearing anymore of that conversation was just going to make Peter angrier than he already was. 

Ned and Peter were already up the stairs and inside a classroom now. Peter wasn’t too excited for classes that day since he was supposed to have a quiz in AP Chemistry, and he didn’t study for it because he was so busy juggling his emotions all morning and all last night. Needless to say, it didn’t go well. A cherry on top of an already crappy day. He tried to invest himself in his classes, in the conversations he and Ned had during lunch, and keep himself positive by thinking about the first official Decathlon practice today. Flash, Gwen and a couple other of the seniors were in charge of recruiting new people for the team. They tabled in front of the cafeteria last week, and all of the names were submitted to Mr. Harrington, Peter and MJ for reviewing. Peter didn’t recognize a lot of the names, but there were a good number of people vying to be on the nationally ranked decathlon team. For the last couple of weeks, MJ and Peter were emailing Mr. Harrington back and forth about their first practice today. Neither Peter nor MJ had been captain of the team at the beginning of the year, so they needed plenty of advice and guidance to figure out their plans for this week’s practices. Peter even reached out to Liz, the captain for part of last year, and she responded with a lengthy five-paragraph email.

When Peter was dismissed for his last period class, he found MJ rummaging through his locker. At the beginning of the year, MJ was running late for a meeting with a teacher and didn’t have time to put her books in her own locker, so Peter gave her the combination to his. Ever since then, she’d been using Peter’s locker as though it was hers. “Sorry, I’m pretty sure your locker is down the hall,” Peter joked, but it fell completely flat. He had been avoiding her all day. She would want to talk about what happened last night and that frankly was something Peter was trying hard to avoid.

She turned to face him; her lips were curved into a half-hearted and she seemed to be trying hard to avoid looking at Peter with nothing but pity. “I like this one a little better,” she said. She closed the locker, holding the decathlon binder in her right arm. With her other hand, MJ took Peter’s hand in her hand. It was warm to the touch. “Are you okay?”

Peter swallowed the anger he so immediately felt. He hated that conversation. No. He wasn’t okay. He was _far_ from okay. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he whispered. He could barely look into her eyes.

“You don’t have to be okay,” she said, quietly.

“I know.”

“And you know you can talk to me about anything?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah.”

Words failed both of them as they tried to figure out together how to handle the magnitude of the situation. Instead, she pulled Peter into a tender hug. After spending the day avoiding what he was feeling, he felt the weight of the guilt yank him every direction. All those cages and barriers he put up to keep the anxiety out was breaking. The only thing keeping him upright right now was MJ. And her hand. And her support. “I’m guessing you haven’t had the chance to ask May about volunteering at the soup kitchen together?” she asked when Peter finally let her go.

“Not yet,” Peter admitted, sheepishly. “Got pretty distracted last night. I can ask her when I get home.”

“No pressure,” MJ said, sweetly. “Whenever you can.”

“Hey, Parker, Jones!” came a voice yelling so loudly that Peter felt like everyone in the hallway could hear. It was none other than Flash Thompson and his friend, Jason Ionello, swaggering over to the two of them. “If you two weren’t planning on making out before decathlon practice, the rest of us are going to Delmar’s store down the street for some food. Do you guys want to come with us?”

MJ cracked a smile. “I don’t know. I was really looking forward to making out with Peter.”

Jason groaned. “God, can you guys stop? I think I just lost my appetite.”

MJ and Peter just laughed. It was nice to be able to joke with Flash and Jason again, after everything that happened last year with Peter and everything that came to light with MJ’s family during their national competition last year, too. Not that the decathlon team knew the entire story — there was too much baggage and too many secrets that kept MJ and Peter from divulging the _whole_ story to their friends. But they knew Peter and MJ were facing trauma that the two couldn’t brave alone. The team, including Flash and Jason, had been there for them. Didn’t matter that Flash spent most of freshman year picking on Peter, and that Peter was sometimes just as relentless back. 

“Seriously, are you guys coming?” Flash asked.

Neither Peter nor MJ answered right away. MJ looked at Peter, apprehensively. “Do we need to set anything up for decathlon practice?” Peter asked when MJ didn’t say anything.

She shook her head. “We just need to rearrange some tables. We can go if you want.”

It’ll be good. Get out of his head for a while. Spend time with his friends. “I could go for some food,” Peter admitted, glancing at MJ. “But if you want to stay and set up for practice today, I’d be fine with that, too.”

MJ smiled; Peter couldn’t tell how genuine that smile was, though. “We can always make Flash and the others set everything up when we get back,” she said with a light tone.

That settled it. Peter followed Jason and Flash to the rest of the team gathered by the front of the Midtown. All of Peter’s close friends were waiting out front: Ned talking with Sally and Abraham; Gwen, Cindy and Betty laughing over something on Gwen’s phone; Isabella was hanging around new faces—and young ones, likely some of the freshmen the Decathlon team was trying to recruit. When Peter, MJ, Jason and Flash were in sight, the team excitedly greeted the four of them. Last year, Peter and MJ normally avoided going with the team to these pre-practice runs to Mr. Delmar’s store for a variety of reasons (saving money, other responsibilities or avoiding social interactions at all costs), so everyone was pretty ecstatic to know that they were going. Gwen greeted MJ and Peter with a kind smile, and Betty the same. They had no idea Peter was still thinking about their conversation from this morning.

_His fault._

Ned was the first person to come up to Peter and MJ with a goofy grin on his face. “You guys are actually coming today!” Ned exclaimed. He patted Peter on the back. “I was getting tired of buying you food before our practices.”

“Dude, I _always_ pay for our takeout whenever you come over to watch _Star Wars_!” Peter said. It was silly humor, but maybe that was what Peter needed the most. 

MJ looked between Peter and Ned with a frown, but she couldn’t keep a straight face around them. She grinned. “Losers, can you keep your nerding out to a minimum when I’m around?” MJ asked.

“I thought we got past you calling us losers,” Ned protested.

“Nope,” MJ said as she took the lead in front of the team on the way to the grocery store. Peter and Ned hurried forward to catch up with her. 

It was a nice day out. Everyone was smiling and happy. Peter’s friends didn’t ponder over the atrocities that happened last night. They were lost in conversation about how all the seniors were stressed out over what colleges they were applying to. The conversation began with Gwen bringing up Liz and how much everyone missed her on the team. Gwen and Betty, who were Liz’s closest friends, were telling everyone how Liz got into John Hopkins University on a full academic scholarship. Not surprising. She was honestly one of the smartest people Peter knew. And one of the most hardworking.

“I wish we could just skip the phase of stressing out about which schools we could go to and get to the part where we can finally enjoy senior year,” Gwen said.

Peter cared about where Gwen and her friends were going off to school, especially since Peter knew he probably wouldn’t be able to see Gwen or Betty much after they leave. He wished he could have such care-free and easy conversations about college the way that they could. They were worried about what dorms they would live in and their future roommate would be, or whether or not they would make it into their top-choice schools. With Peter, he was worried about whether he would _live_ to make it to college or how being Spider-Man would affect his ability to attend a university with passing grades. If Peter does go to college, which was still questionable in his mind since he was so busy saving New York and everything, he would probably go to somewhere in New York. Empire State University was his top choice, or maybe NYU. Really, Peter had always dreamed of following the footsteps of his mentor, Tony Stark, and go to MIT. That didn’t seem realistic, though. Peter was meant to stay in New York... not to mention Peter could barely afford paying for the application to MIT, let alone tuition there. 

They just arrived at Mr. Delmar’s convenient store. Mr. Delmar, a short stout man, was leaning against the register looking awfully bored. When the mass of teenagers came walking into his store, however, he straightened up, a wide, elated smile stretching across his face. “Ah! Mr. Parker, I’ve been waiting for you! And you brought your friends!”

“Hope you’re ready for the after-school rush,” Peter said. While one of the workers there, Mr. Delmar’s youngest nephew, took everyone’s orders, Peter went to the side to talk to Mr. Delmar. “How’s business been?”

“Alright,” Mr. Delmar said. “How’s school been?” It was the same old conversation the two of them always had when Peter came here after school.

“Eh,” Peter admitted. “Starting to enjoy a little more.”

“That’s good. It means you’re maturing,” Mr. Delmar said as he finished ringing up Gwen. “Thought about college yet?”

“Gotta graduate first,” Peter joked.

“ _Please_ , smart kid like yourself?” Mr. Delmar said. “You’ll be fine.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Peter said.

“Keep bringing your friends down here with you,” Mr. Delmar said. “It’s good for my business.”

“‘Course,” Peter said. He looked behind him to see that most of his friends were eating their sandwiches and snacks outside. “I’ll be back!”

“I expect so!” Mr. Delmar shouted back as Peter left to join the rest of the decathlon team.

Peter wasn’t sure how much of the conversation he had missed, but now everyone was talking about some huge party that happened over the weekend. Peter settled next to MJ and listened: since it was the beginning of the year, that meant it was football season (even though the Midtown football team was a complete joke). Football games, win or lose, meant that there was pregaming and after parties and all the craziness in between. And when the team actually won, like they did last Friday, Flash would always throw the biggest, wildest parties of the year back at his place. Peter remembered hearing something about the party last, but he didn’t go the game or the party, instead spending his time with MJ and Ned. Anyway, Gwen apparently got trashed that night and now, her friends were recounting all of the stupid things she did that night.

“I can’t believe you made out with Donald from the football team. You are _never_ living that down,” Cindy said, laughing.

Gwen shook her head. “Come on. He’s a sweet guy. Plus, he’s into me and I’m into him. What more could a girl want?”

“How about a guy with a brain?” Flash said. “Come on. Everyone knows Donald has an IQ of—”

“Flash, don’t be such a dick,” Gwen said.

“Yeah, didn’t that girl from Manhattan High dump you a couple weeks ago because she got sick of your personality?” MJ added with a sly tone of voice.

“Whatever,” Flash said. “Besides, I'm not sure why you’re acting all surprised. Donald’s had a hard-on for Gwen ever since freshman year.”

“Oh god, Flash. Why do you always—,” Gwen started, though she was interrupted with the sound of a loud car speeding through the street. She frowned. “ _Ugh!_ I don’t understand why people want such loud, obnoxious cars.”

“Because girls think it’s hot when guys have cars like that,” Flash said, grinning.

“No. We _really_ don’t,” Gwen said. 

Flash rolled his eyes. “Hey, Parker, does your new Audi make sounds like that when you rev its engine?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Peter said. “Like Betty said, it’s kind of obnoxious.”

“Bet MJ sounds like that when you rev her engine,” Flash said with a grin. Gwen and Betty both smacked Flash, who deserved it after that comment.

Peter groaned in disgust. “Come on, man! What the hell?”

MJ took out her pencil case from her bag and raised her arm. In the split second that MJ was about to turn around and throw her pencil case at Flash, it seemed like the world had come to a bone-chilling halt around Peter. As though MJ, Flash, Ned, Gwen, all of his friends were frozen where they stood. The sensation of electricity shot up Peter’s spine and exploded in frenzy at the base of Peter’s head. He felt the hair on his arms stand straight up, his muscles tense. _Something was wrong._ Very wrong, and Peter had less than a fraction of a second to react.

“GET DOWN!” Peter shouted. 

His brain stopped working as he let the spider-senses take control of his body. Peter grabbed MJ and Ned first, yanking them to the ground. They both slammed onto the cement with a thud. Peter genuinely hoped neither of them had any serious injuries besides maybe some cuts or bruises, but right now, that didn’t matter. The rest of his friends hadn’t moved, either, eyes fixated on the sight of Peter thrusting MJ and Ned to ground. Whatever threat Peter thought was coming hadn’t hit yet. _He had time._ Maybe his friends thought he was having a panic attack like the one he had when he attacked Flash last year. But that wasn’t the case this. This was different. This was _real_ , and Peter knew it. The spider-senses, honed and trained even more since last year, knew it was real. So, forget what his friends would think of him after this. Peter leapt forward, taking down Flash, Gwen and Abraham. He didn’t have time to grab the rest. 

_CRACK!_ The sound of the first gunshot was earsplitting. _CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!_ The bullets were going at rapid fire now. One after another after another. Peter’s senses were more heightened than they had ever been before. He could feel Flash trembling beside him. Peter was partially lying on top of Gwen, protecting her head, and he swore he could hear the sound of her heart throbbing so fast he thought it would burst in her chest. In the midst of the chaos, of the screams coming from his friends and the civilians around him, Peter dared to look up to see what was happening: some tan small car with no plates and tinted windows was barreling down the road, carelessly colliding against any car that got in the way. A semiautomatic weapon pointing out of the car withdrew, the window rolling up a second later. Tires squealed against the asphalt as the car disappeared around the corner. Bullets had splayed across the sides of Mr. Delmar’s establishment, up and down the walls, ricocheting off of the metal light poles. The assault only lasted a couple of seconds, but it left the surrounding area reeling. People were screaming, crying, shouting to make sure the people around them were okay. Cars had crashed into other cars. Civilians were pushing through others, scrambling to get to safety. It was chaos. 

With the car gone, Peter didn’t spare a second. He yanked Gwen and Flash off the ground in one swift motion. “Off the streets!” he screamed. Peter whipped around, eyes trained on finding MJ. _She has to be safe._ And she was. Thank god. She was in the midst of pushing herself off the ground, helping Ned up in the process. In the haze and pandemonium, Peter and MJ made eye contact and she mouthed one word silently. 

“ _GO.”_

Peter used the chaos to his advantage. His friends were still scrambling to get off the ground, to get inside where they could be safe. Everyone was so busy worrying about themselves that no one seemed to notice Peter going in the opposite direction as everyone else to one of the deserted, open alleyways. He spared one glance at his friends, watching as Flash was practically carrying a disorientated Betty off the streets; MJ was helping someone off the ground. A second passed and his friends disappeared behind the mass of terrified people. _They’re safe. They’re going to be okay._ He couldn’t worry about them right now. Peter tucked himself behind a couple of nasty-smelling garbage cans before yanking his shirt and jeans off to reveal the Iron-Spider suit underneath his laymen clothes. He brought the suit everywhere he went and every second he spent stripping and changing outfits was time lost. For the past few weeks, he had tested out what it would be like wearing his suit under his clothes and it was times like this that made the discomfort of wearing spandex under all his clothes all day worth it. Peter yanked the mask on. The slits over the eyes adjusted to the light and Spider-Man was ready.

With a flick of his wrist, the thin, durable strand of webbing attached itself to the corner of the high-rise building right next to Mr. Delmar’s convenient store. Peter got a running start, kicked off the sidewalk and went spiraling around the corner and down the street. The crowd below of terrified citizens looked up at Spider-Man, some cheering out the vigilante’s name. “Karen!” Peter exclaimed, trying hard to resist the urge to check on his friends first. “Find me those guys!”

“Take a left and move fast. You’re going to lose them!” Karen yelled.

Peter followed her instructions without a hitch. Thanks to all the work he’s been putting in to training this summer, flying around busy streets, contouring his body in the perfect way to maximize his energy and time came naturally. Instincts and skills told Peter when exactly he needed to detach from the current web his was using and fling another to just the right building to keep him moving at the perfect speed. _He could do this. He_ had _to do this._

The technology in the Iron-Spider suit was amazing. All while Peter was flying through the streets, his eyes were scanning the cars and the people he was passing. Blue lights flashed over every object, face and licenses plate until the suit dialed in on the car the shooters were using. Once recognizing the car, the lights turned orange and kept the vehicle highlighted. “Got it!” Peter shouted. “Yes!” Peter lowered his web to get on the same level as the car. Most of the other vehicles had swerved out of the way, which meant that Peter had a clear path to the vehicle. First things first, Peter needed to find a way to stop the car from getting any further, and there was only one way that Peter figured he could accomplish this goal. Peter webbed up the front and back doors on both sides so that the shooters inside wouldn’t be able to escape. Then, Peter attached one web to the trunk door of the car and another to a bench across the street. Immediately, the car groaned at the pressure of Peter suddenly yanking the car back. “Come on, Spider-Man. _Come on!”_ he grunted.

Smoke from the tires burning against the road filled the air, but Peter wasn’t going to let the car go. Civilians turned to stare and point as the vigilante held onto the vehicle with all his might. He could feel his strength diminishing, his arms cramping up as he held onto the car. His spider-senses suddenly suggested that something was wrong.

“No, no!” Peter shouted.

He felt the web attached to the bench snap. No. It wasn’t the web that snapped. It was the bench itself. The metal creaked under the force of the car trying to peel away and the nails, or whatever attached the bench to the ground, just _broke_. Up flew the bench and was about to hit Peter straight in the face. The spider-senses prevented that from happening. Peter leapt to the side just in time for the bench to go clattering into a parked car. Now that there was nothing keeping the car from moving, the tires screeched as the vehicle sped forward uncontrollably. Peter felt his feet lift off the ground momentarily as he shot forward. Only, they didn’t get far because something shot out from the sides of Peter’s suit. Whatever it was jerked Peter back and the car once again was straining to move. Peter looked around to see that what looked like four metal legs were jammed deep into the road, securing Peter where he stood.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Karen, what the hell are these?!” Peter gasped.

“What do you think, Peter? Metal legs,” she said.

“This is… _awesome_!” Peter yelled.

Confident in these legs, he supposed he would call them, Peter focused entirely on getting the car to him. Mustering up all the energy Peter had left, he began to literally drag the car closer to him. He felt his muscles shake as he pulled on the web. Even though every muscle in his body, even the muscles in his face, were quaking with exhaust, Peter was inching the car closer and closer to him. This was going to work! Spider-Man was going to catch the bad guys and—

“Michelle Jones is calling you. Should I send her to voicemail?” Karen asked.

“Uh,” Peter grunted as he yanked harder. “No. No, patch her through!” Peter figured she wouldn’t be calling if there wasn’t something seriously wrong.

The call connected. “Peter!” MJ whispered. Peter’s senses were honed enough that he could hear what sounded like gargled moaning and sobbing in the background of the call. And judging by the sound of MJ’s voice, he knew she was terrified. He hadn’t heard her sound this scared since she called him last year to tell him about her father. “Peter, you need to get back here!”

“What’s going on?” Peter strained to say. “I’m kind of in the middle of something!”

“It’s Betty! She got shot, Peter! The ambulances won’t be able to make it here soon because of all the car crashes!” MJ exclaimed.

“What?!” Peter yelled. Peter was half-interrupted by the sound of a metal splintering off. Instead of pulling the car closer to him, Peter just managed to rip the trunk door right off of its hinges. It came flying toward Peter. The sheer shock of hearing that one of his classmates got shot messed with his head so the spider-senses were absolutely useless. The car door came crashing against Peter. “ _Shit!”_ Peter hissed, eyes watering with pain as he was thrown onto the ground, the metal legs that were once holding him folding uselessly under him. The vehicle, trunk door-less, went speeding off; Peter never got a good look at the guys in the car. 

Peter thought about pursuing the car again, but the sound of MJ’s choked cry kept Peter frozen where he stood. “You need to get her to the hospital! _Now_ , or else she might not make it!”

That was enough for Peter to give up on pursuing the bad guys. Peter figured there would be other ways to track down those guys, but there was only one way to make sure that Betty lived. That was to get her to the hospital. Helping his friends, helping the people of New York would _always_ take precedent over catching bad guys. Protecting had to be Spider-Man’s job. So, Peter didn’t look back at the vehicle speeding away because he knew Spider-Man was needed somewhere else. He got a running start, flung a web at an awning attached to a building across the street and flew in the opposite direction of the car. Instead of letting himself think about what MJ had told him, knowing full-well that picturing Betty _shot_ would cloud up his thoughts and instincts, Peter focused on his movements. He was swift, elegant and fast, and before he knew it, Peter saw MJ and his friends.

MJ, of course, was the first person that Peter noticed. She was scanning the sky, he hands clenched together into fists. The one thing Peter knew about MJ was that she hardly showed emotions on her sleeve, so seeing her look as terrified as she did made Peter feel as equally terrified. To make matters worse, Peter could see that the white shirt she was wearing was soaked with blood. Beside her, Flash, Jason and Gwen were hovering over who Peter only could assume was Betty. He couldn’t see Betty, though, because concerned citizens and the other decathlon members surrounded Flash, Jason and Gwen. People were yelling and crying over the phone and to each other. The streets were completely backed up, vehicles having crashed into other vehicles and some completely stalling in the road to check on Betty.

Peter landed gracefully on the ground and ran over to the crowd. Ned and MJ were the first two people to greet Peter. Peter had the strong urge to hug the two of them because he had honestly never seen them look so scared. Only, Peter was supposed to be Spider-Man right now, not Peter Parker. Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds were supposed to be two mere strangers, _civilians_ that Peter had never met before. Even though everyone was paying attention to Betty, he didn’t want to risk turning MJ and Ned into a spectacle. “Where’s the, uh — I heard there was a…” Peter stopped himself. He felt like he was dehumanizing the situation, and he couldn’t do that. Not to Betty _._ “Where is she?”

MJ didn’t care that other people were watching. She threw her arms around Peter. “Thank god,” she whispered. At this point, no one cared that some scared teenager was hugging New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. She kept her hand on Peter’s shoulder as she hurried him toward Betty. “She’s over here,” she said.

“Guys, I’m sorry,” Peter said, “Please, just…” No one was listening to him. He was getting increasingly angry. The longer he waits, the more likely for Betty not to—

“Spider-Man’s coming through! Get the hell out of his way!” MJ yelled. 

The crowd around Peter and MJ went silent. The gaze of strangers’ left and right turned to stare at Peter, and the piercing stare of his friends made Peter feel even more stressed out. Peter stopped short of Flash, Gwen and Jason. “Guys, I, uh…” Peter tried to make his voice sound deeper so that his friends wouldn’t recognize him. “Can you let me through? I’m here to help.”

“Gwen,” Flash said, but Gwen didn’t listen.

“I can’t leave her. She needs — someone has to put pressure on her wound,” Gwen stammered through tears.

“It’s okay. She can stay,” Peter said. “I just… let me see her, at least.” He glanced at Flash and Jason, which indicated for them to get up and give Peter a clear view of Betty. 

Peter felt his stomach lurch forward at he got a good look at his friend. Betty’s face was clammy and pale, her blonde shiny hair sticking to the sides of her face. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her mascara running. Judging by the way that her eyes were barely staying open and her breathing was uneven, Peter could tell she was seconds away from losing consciousness. Just last year in December Peter had been shot in the middle of rounds, so Peter knew firsthand just how unbearable it felt to get shot. For Peter, it was a flesh wound. His instincts had driven him to move out of the way just in time for the bullet to merely scrap the side of chest. Plus, his enhanced healing abilities meant that the pain was at least slightly subdued. But Betty… she was shot in her lower stomach. Blood was pooled around her, soaking through her shirt, all over her arms and hands and hair. Gwen was using her own sweater to apply pressure to Betty’s wound.

“Oh shit…” Peter muttered.

“Help her!” Gwen sobbed. “Please! She’s my best friend.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter said, holding his hands up. “I’ll get her to the hospital.” Even then, Gwen didn’t seem too likely to let her friend go. Peter put his arm on Gwen’s shoulder. “You did a good job putting pressure on that wound, but if you want her to live, I am your best bet at getting your friend to the hospital.”

“Gwen, let Spider-Man take her,” MJ said, firmly.

Gwen sniffled. “Okay, okay… just, please make sure she’s okay,” Gwen managed. Flash put an arm around Gwen and helped to ease her off the ground.

Peter knelt down beside Betty. “Karen, tell the hospital I’m on the way,” Peter said.

“Already did,” Karen said. “They’re prepping for her now. And they’re sending additional EMTs to this location as we speak.”

With that, Peter gathered Betty in his arms. He had to be as careful as he’s ever been. He attempted to pick her up one way, but somehow spider-senses let him know that that particular position would cause her more pain than necessary. Peter tried again. When Peter was sure of the safest way to carry Betty, as well as the fastest route to the hospital, thanks to Karen, Peter was off. Fortunately, the nearest hospital wasn’t far and as Karen had said, emergency room doctors were already waiting outside with a stretcher, a ventilator, and some other hospital machines that Peter didn’t recognize. All the doctors pointed at Peter, ushering for him to hurry to the ground. Peter landed comfortably and swiftly before running forward.

The doctors barely gave Spider-Man a passing thought. They got Betty situated onto the stretcher, hooked her up to a couple of machines and then began running. _Fast._ Peter wasn’t sure what Karen had told them, but clearly, they weren’t interested in getting Spider-Man’s input on the situation. Peter stood there dumbly for a long second. _She has to be okay. She has to live._ Peter couldn’t bear it if another person he loved died. The sheer thought of losing Betty was enough to set up a slew of unwanted reactions. Peter recognized the signs of a panic attack coming again: the heavy breathing, the dizziness.

Not now. _Not now._

Peter’s phone, which was synced to his suit, rung. It was a call from Tony. Even though Peter couldn’t see his mentor, nor had they even had a real conversation yet, just seeing Tony’s name on the screen grounded him. Gave him something to focus on. “Mr. Stark?” Peter said, sighing in relief.

“Peter? What the hell is happening? Your AI activated your distress signal!” Tony said.

“It’s… there’s a drive-by shooting by Mr. Delmar’s convenient store,” Peter managed. “I’m… I’m okay. I had… my friend got shot and I had to bring her to the hospital, so whoever did it got away.”

“Okay. It’s okay, kid,” Tony reassured. “Are you at the hospital now?”

“Yeah. The doctors have her,” Peter said. The adrenaline was starting to dissipate, and Peter could feel his body start to weaken. The fact that it was now registering in Peter’s mind that he had his friend’s blood all over his suit wasn’t helping, either.

“And you’re okay?” Tony asked.

“I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” Peter said.

“Okay. I’m already on my way,” Tony said, which was reassuring to hear. “Peter, you should get back to your friends.”

“Right,” Peter whispered. “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Stark.”

 _Get to your friends_. That was the only thing Peter could focus on right now as he swung from building to building. If he didn’t get to his friends right now, they would surely notice that Peter had been missing for this long. Finding his way back to Mr. Delmar’s place would be no problem but trying to come up with a good excuse as to why Peter was always absent when something bad happened to the team was starting to get harder and harder. He stopped just short of where his friends were still waiting and found the alley he originally ducked behind. Fortunately, no one had stolen the clothes he left in a pile by one of the trash cans. He yanked the mask off him, throwing it into the depths of his backpack and dressed quickly. Peter roughed up his hair a little bit and went running down the street to find his friends. They were still right in front of Mr. Delmar’s establishment, huddled together in tears. The area was crawling with EMTs and police officers, checking up on all the civilians to make sure everyone was okay. Most of the yelling and running had ceased, but people were in hysterics now as it started to dawn on them that they were just caught in the midst of a drive-by shooting. People were being given blankets and water for the shock, being told repeatedly to sit down and try to calm down.

Betty was the only person who seriously could have been killed in the shooting, but there were plenty of other people who were injured. A few civilians had gotten shot in the arm or leg, including Mr. Delmar’s nephew. All the gunshot victims were being wheeled out on stretchers to the ambulance, which, judging by the loudness of the sirens, were probably about a block away. Other than the gunshot wound victims and possibly a few broken bones from falling or trying to take cover, mostly everyone left with nothing but bruises and scrapes. Peter studied his friends for a second to see if any of them were seriously injured. It was hard to tell, though. Most of their clothes were drenched in blood, but there was no way for Peter to know if was their blood or Betty’s blood.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, trying to feign breathlessness. He ran up to his friends. They all turned to stare at Peter in confusion and shock. “What happened? Where did you guys go?” Peter felt really shitty acting like he didn’t have a clue what was happening, but he had no other choice.

 _“‘Where did we go?’”_ Flash repeated, angrily. “We all stayed together. Where the hell have you been?”

“I — I got lost in the crowd. I kept running. The next thing I knew I was block away and you guys were gone. I called Tony Stark already. He should be on his way, if that helps,” Peter said. He took a moment to look already until he found MJ. “Hey, are you alright? Why — why are you covered in blood?”

“It’s Betty,” MJ said. “Peter, she got shot.”

“What?!” Peter gasped. He felt so shitty and overdramatic for putting up this façade. “Where is she? Is she going to be okay?”

“We don’t know. Spider-Man took her to the hospital,” Flash said.

“Now we just have to wait to find out if she’s okay,” Gwen said, holding back a sob. “Ugh, god. I just want to go home.”

“Are we not allowed to leave?” Peter asked, though he already knew the answer to that.

Cindy shook her head. “The police want to take our statements.” 

She pointed to some of the officers talking to Mr. Delmar. Peter internally groaned. He hadn’t even thought of Mr. Delmar, or the business owners around him. Perhaps it was good for business at first that Spider-Man came to fix up Mr. Delmar’s establishment after some of Adrian Toomes’s goons blew it to pieces. But now, Mr. Delmar’s convenient store was the scene of a drive-by shooting where a teenage girl had just been shot _and_ the suspects had gotten away. No one would want to come near this part of town! Not to mention, bullet holes marred the walls of Mr. Delmar’s store, as well as covered the sidewalk around him. His windows were shattered and inside, shelves were knocked over, the small fridge of drinks completely shattered. Why would someone want to do this to Mr. Delmar? What kind of enemies did Mr. Delmar have? (Peter was, of course, assuming that Mr. Delmar was the target of this attack because his business had the most damage, but there was no way to know that for sure).

“Did someone call Betty’s parents?” Abraham asked.

“Yeah,” Cindy said. She was trying to hold back tears. “They said they’re on the way to the hospital and that they’re going to call me the minute they have any news.”

“What about Mr. Harrington?” Jason said. “Someone should tell him that we’re probably not going to make it to practice.”

“I already did,” MJ said. “You guys should probably all call your parents. They’ll probably be worried sick.”

Mostly everyone on the decathlon team had called their parents already to let them know what was happening and most of their parents were already on their way. That reminded Peter, however, that he needed to call May. She answered before the first ring even finished. “Peter?!” she gasped. “God, Tony called me about a… a _shoot-out!_ What is he talking about?”

Peter should have known that Tony already called May. They were the closest thing he had to parents, so of course when something remotely bad happened to Peter and his friends, they would talk. May must have figured that Spider-Man had been in pursuit of the shooters, which meant double the amount of worrying from May. “May,” Peter said, “May, really I’m alright. I’m not hurt. I’m a little banged up but nothing too severe.”

“Are you sure? Should I come down to see you?” May said.

“Yeah, if you want,” Peter said. “Tony is already on his way down.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thank god you’re okay,” May said. “Did anyone get hurt that you know? The _Breaking News_ coverage said that most of the damage was done to Mr. Delmar’s place… is he…”

“Mr. Delmar is fine. It’s Betty, May. Betty got shot… and they’re not sure if she’s going to make it,” Peter muttered. Saying the words out loud made the situation all the more dire. Blaming himself for what happened to Betty wouldn’t help the situation at all. Peter tried to warn his friends. He attempted to go after the bad guys _(and failed)._ He brought Betty to the hospital when MJ called him. There was nothing more that Peter could have done and he had to accept that. “May, I’m scared,” Peter finally said. “I’m really scared.”

“You did everything you could,” May said. Peter head the sound of clattering metal in the background. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“Nothing,” May said. “I’m just — I’m trying to get my stuff to meet you and I knocked a lamp over. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?”

Peter almost said yes but then, he heard the sound of strong wind and lots of shouting. Only, it wasn’t wind making all the noise. It was the repulsors whirring as Iron-Man, in all his glory, gracefully landed down on the ground. The civilians around Iron-Man parted to make way for the Avenger. Cameras were out, the police officers looked a little put out, but nonetheless, everyone seemed relieved. The mask of the Iron-Man suit detracted, little machines peeling back to expose Mr. Stark’s concerned looking face as he took in the horror of the scene in front of him.

“What the hell happened here?” Tony asked.

“You’re too late,” one of the police officers said. They pointed down the street where the drivers had gone. “Spider-Man went after them but had to come back to take a GSW victim to the hospital. Not sure you’ll be able to find them now.”

“That’s… that’s okay. I’ll get my AI working on tracking them,” Tony said. He looked around. “Do we need to get anyone to the hospital?”

“We’re alright,” an EMT said. “Most of the gunshot victims were stabilized and are already en route to the hospital.”

“Guess I missed all the action, huh,” Tony said. A second later, the armor started to peel away, slide down his legs and arms and chest until it disappeared into a small gadget in the center of Tony’s chest. Tony Stark finally met eyes with his protégé, looking down at the teenager with concerned eyes. “Come here, kid,” Tony said as he outstretched his arms. It didn’t matter that the entire decathlon team was staring or that the people on the streets were watching with curiosity. Tony hugged Peter with fervency. Even though the spider-senses made it much harder for Peter to be killed, the thought of losing Peter was always in the back of Tony’s mind. “It’s alright. You’re okay.” 

Peter knew he was okay, and that made him feel all the more worse. _He_ was okay, but his friend wasn’t. Stubbornly, Peter bit back tears. “I tried to stop them,” Peter choked into his mentor’s ear. They were speaking so quietly that no one would have been able to hear what they were saying. “I tried but… I — I had to get Betty.”

“You did the right thing,” Tony reassured. He let Peter go before glaring at the staring civilians. “Come on, now. We’re all humans, here. Can’t two people just have a little bit of privacy?”

Having Tony Stark snap at you was enough for the people on the streets to mind their own business. Civilians went back to huddling together, while the police officers and EMTs hurried up and down the sidewalks to do their jobs. Peter and Tony went to the stand with the rest of the decathlon team. Normally, being in the same area as Tony Stark would have made Ned and even Flash swoon, but the shock and terror was starting to settle in among Peter’s friends. After checking up on Peter’s injuries, which was nothing more than some bruises after getting hit in the face with the car door, Tony began making his way around the decathlon team to check up on everyone. A few moments after Tony arrived, a very worried Mr. Harrington and an equally worried flee of decathlon parents came rushing forward. Peter saw Shelly and Kevin rushing to see if MJ was okay. May, who opted against using her car as she assumed traffic would be backed up from the shooting, had sprinted from their apartment all the way to Mr. Delmar’s establishment. She was out of breath and sweaty and completely beside herself when she came into.

“Peter!” she panted as she threw her arms around him.

“I’m alright, May,” Peter managed.

“God, why do bad things always happen to your decathlon team?” she muttered, pulling Peter into another hug and pressing a kiss on his temple. She ran her fingers across his tender cheeks; she could feel how swollen Peter’s cheek was becoming. “What happened to your face?”

“I got hit in the face with a car door. It’s a long story,” Peter muttered.

“We’ll get you some ice later,” May promised. 

She left her hands on Peter’s shoulders as they joined the rest of the terrified parents. May and Shelly found each other quickly. The two women greeted each other with a hug before Shelly went to check on Peter and May went to see if MJ was okay. Shelly took a look at Peter’s face, said something along the lines of ‘god, you’re going to have such a nasty bruise tomorrow’ and then went back to her niece.

Since most of the people on the decathlon team were minors, the police officers could finally interview Peter and his friends now that everyone’s guardians had showed up. Peter was one of the first people to be interviewed, though he didn’t have much of a story to tell. Over the past couple of years since becoming Spider-Man, Peter has had to lie more times about what he was doing than he had his entire life. He wasn’t great at lying, not that that was a bad thing, so he learned that it’s best just to keep his story simple: Peter ran ahead with the crowd. When he felt like he was at a safe distance, Peter ducked into an alley where he called Tony Stark (the police officers looked pretty doubtful at that comment, so Tony had to intervene and tell the officers about the fake internship). Peter explained away the bruises he got in the fight by saying that, in the chaos of escaping the shooting, he took a few elbows against his face. The only follow-up questions Peter had to answer were about the shooters and the car: he remembered the type of car, the model and the color, but there were no plates and he never got a good look at the shooters.

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t much,” Peter said. “I was so scared. I was just trying to run away.”

The officer taking his statement shook his head. “It’s not to worry, kid. Your biggest concern was your safety, and that’s not unreasonable. Is there anything else you’d like to add?” Peter shook his head. The less he says to the police officers, the less likely they or his friends will be suspicious of Peter. 

The officers turned to interview his other friends. The more and more Peter listened to what happened, the angrier and more upset he felt. Peter was present for the entirety of the shooting, which had only lasted for a few seconds, so no one brought up any new information on the shooters. In fact, Peter had the most detailed account of the car. However, hearing Gwen and Flash, who were closest to Betty at the time she was shot, recounting their reactions when they saw their friend lying on the ground in pain hurt Peter to his core. There was no present threat, but Peter’s adrenaline was starting to pump in his veins, as though his body was trying to get him to ditch his friends and search every road within a twenty-mile radius so that he could find the shooters.

“Gary, can we take our kids back home now?” Gwen’s mom said when the police officers finished up interviewing the last round of Decathlon kids. Gwen’s father, George Stacy, was the former captain of the police force in Manhattan. He was a pretty austere man, but he loved his family, his job and his home immensely. Unfortunately, a couple years ago, before Peter could ever dream of being Spider-Man and when he was still fantasizing about even being on the same street as Tony Stark, let alone work with man, Captain Stacy was killed while on the job. After Mr. Stacy passed away, almost every police officer on the force watched over Gwen and her family.

Gary, the police officer taking everyone’s statements, sighed. “Yeah. Yeah,” he said. He rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Look, I’m really sorry this happened to you kids.” He handed out a stack of what looked like business cards to Ms. Stacy. 

“What’s this?” Ms. Stacy asked.

“This is the number to a few emotional support counselors, in case any of you guys need anything,” Gary explained as Ms. Stacy handed out the business cards to all the parents, including May and Tony. They both pocketed the business card. Peter didn’t think he needed the business card since he hoped Dr. Strange would still be there to help Peter out. Then again, after their chat the other day, it seemed like the mystical being was going to be occupied for a while. “I know some of you may be hesitant to the idea of counseling, but it’s important that you seek support. Don’t be afraid to get help.”

Peter bit his lip. He had heard that all too much over his lifetime. _Get help. Get help. Don’t be afraid to reach out to people._ Hearing concerned adults tell Peter to get help was a broken record. It didn’t bother him thinking that he might have to talk to someone else about his feelings. Peter knew that letting others in and taking care of himself was important. What bothered him was looking around at the faces of his friends; They shouldn't have been exposed to trauma like this. they looked confused and in shock as they tried to sort through their emotions after watching Betty get shot. Flash was staring at the blood on his hands as though he thought he was stuck in some nightmare. 

And in lot of ways, this was a nightmare. Peter took his surroundings: the blood splattered all over the ground; the destroyed bodega; a trail of bumpers and scrap car parts littering the ground from THE shooters careening down the road. His heightened senses made the sobs from his friends and from bystanders so much louder. _His fault._ First the paramedics. Now Betty. How could this have happened? Who could do something like this?

_His fault._


	4. Falling into Place

_“The truth is rarely pure_

_and never simple”_

_~ Oscar Wilde ~_

Chapter Four: Falling into Place

Peter felt numb the rest of the day. He watched blankly as Ms. Stacy finished handing out the business cards, still grasping at the one she had given to him earlier with clutched hands. The families of the decathlon members trickled out slowly as the students finished giving their statements. MJ kissed Peter goodbye, though the soft touch barely registered against Peter, who reacted with a mere nod and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. They were all hoping to hear back from Betty’s parents about her condition before they left Delmar’s establishment, but it was still too soon. As Cindy was about to leave with her parents, she promised through choked cries that the moment she heard any news, she would let the rest of the decathlon team know. Peter was one of the last people to leave, there partially because Tony wanted to stay and make sure the shooters didn’t come back, and because Peter didn’t seem to have the capacity to move right now. It took May, Tony and even Mr. Delmar, who thankfully wasn’t injured during the shoot-out talking Peter down from his hysteria until he was finally ready to leave. Considering that Peter’s car was still at the high school, Tony flew (yes, _flew)_ to Midtown to get the car while May and Peter walked back to their apartment. 

Peter didn’t say a single word on the walk home as he was far too distracted thinking about the shooters and Betty and Mr. Delmar. Why would someone want to harm Mr. Delmar? What could Mr. Delmar have possibly done to piss someone off that much? Was it even Mr. Delmar that the shooters were targeting, or was this act of violence meant to be random and was just the Decathlon team’s luck that they happened to be there? Perhaps, they were aiming for someone in the crowd and then shot up the street as a cover? He was getting more and more agitated as he thought harder about what had just happening, especially when the thought donned at him that perhaps the shooters were targeting someone on the Decathlon team. That, and the trauma and horror of what happened over the weekend, felt crippling to Peter.

“Peter?” May said. Her words cut through Peter’s reverie. 

Peter looked up. They were standing outside of their apartment. May was on the top of the stairs, while Peter was still at the bottom, gazing at the ground. “Oh,” Peter said. “Sorry. I’m just a little distracted.”

“That’s okay,” May said. She was back at the bottom of the stairs again to put her arms around Peter and guide him up to their apartment, as though if she left him Peter would simply stop functioning (he supposed there was some truth to that). Inside, Peter got a good idea of how panicked May must have been when she got the call from Tony. The TV in the living room was still on, a plate of food cold and half-eaten on the coffee table. Blankets were thrown about and one of the lamps in the kitchen was broken. May looked around sheepishly. “Oh, god. I forgot how much of a mess I made.”

Peter watched as May turned the TV off and cleared her plate of food. Peter felt so awkward standing in the middle of the living room, so he went to go get the broom. “Here, let me help,” he offered.

May shook his head. “No,” she said, firmly. She looked up at Peter, and he could tell that she was trying to keep her emotions in check. She gave him a feeble smile. “I can take care of this. Besides, Tony will be over soon. Bet I can get him to do the dishes for us.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah. You probably could. You could even get him to buy us a new lamp.”

May rolled her eyes. “Let’s not take advantage of the guy, especially after all the times he’s saved your ass.” She was just about finished sweeping up the shards of glass into a pile before she turned to Peter. “Come on. Why don’t you sit down?” she said, pointing toward the couch. Without waiting for Peter to respond, she guided her nephew toward the couch before she swathed him in two blankets and propped him up against a stack of pillows. Peter thought May was being a little fussy, but she cared.

“May, really. I’m okay,” Peter reassured her. He brushed his fingers against his aunt’s hand. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“At least you _and_ Tony both called me this time,” May said. She went to the kitchen and got a bag of frozen peas out. She wrapped it up in a towel and handed it to Peter. “For your face. Do you need any ibuprofen?”

Peter shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Nothing I haven’t handled before.” What May didn’t know was that Peter had already suffered a concussion a few days ago and getting hit a bunch of times in the head like he just did probably wasn’t a good thing.

“You don’t have to be invincible all the time,” May chastised. That same instant, there was a knock on the door. “That must be Tony,” she said, and hurried to open the door open where Peter’s mentor was standing outside with Peter’s keys in his hands. “Thanks for coming, Tony. I really appreciate it.” May put her hand on Tony’s shoulder before taking the keys and hanging it up by the door.

“Of course,” Tony said. 

He took in the state of the broken lamp and Peter sitting on the couch, covered in blankets even though it was still pretty warm outside. Judging by the twisted expression on Tony’s face, clearly he was distraught and worried, though the concern etched on his face was normal for anyone who was in the Avengers-business as long as Tony has been. Without saying anything, Tony sat down beside Peter, put his arms around the teenager and hugged him, as though Peter was the one who had been shot today, not Betty. Considering that there was no one there to watch the two of them, Peter really let himself unravel in his mentor’s arms, come to terms with the fact that his friends survived something as horrible as what they just went through and to let himself think about Betty and how she _might not_ survive through the night.

Thinking about Betty hit him hard. _She might not survive. She might not survive._ That bullet that ripped through her chest may kill her. It was bitter, hopeless, morbid. Trying to be optimistic at times like this was… difficult. Dr. Strange and Tony had worked with Peter all of last year and all during the summertime to teach Peter how to handle pain in a healthy way, but it seemed so impossible right now. 

“Peter?” Tony asked.

“Betty could die, Tony…” Peter whispered. Peter could feel the tears swelling up in his eyes. “I — I could have stopped it. If I hadn’t gone after those guys…”

“What did we say about blaming yourself?” Tony said. May, who must have seen or heard Peter derailing, sat down on the couch beside his mentor. “You can’t control everything that happens, no matter how much you try.”

Peter wiped his eyes. _Try to be strong. Try to be strong._ “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” May wrapped her arm around Peter’s waist before taking a tissue off of the table and dabbing at Peter’s cheek. “May, May, really I’m okay.” 

His aunt leaned over to press a kiss on his temple. “I know,” she said.

Peter tried to avoid freaking out whenever May and Tony were around. After all, he always thought all hell would break loose whenever he came back from rounds with a bruise on his arm. He took a moment to gather his bearings. Tony taught Peter a few breathing practices, so he put them to use until Peter felt himself relax, felt the strong emotions slowly dissipate. “I’m alright, guys,” Peter reassured. They didn’t look convinced, but the two of them were such worriers that Peter figured trying to convince them that he was alright was altogether futile. Fortunately, the two adults didn’t look like they were in the mood to argue anymore (or they had come to terms with the fact that Peter was a stubborn kid who’s gritty and strong enough to keep himself standing upright even through such traumatic events).

May left Tony and Peter on the couch to clean up the rest of the shards of broken glass. Tony found something on TV for Peter to watch — this reality show that was really just mindless noise — and then joined May in the kitchen. They were whispering quietly amongst themselves, though Peter was too drained to bother figuring out what they were saying. Evidently, while Peter was distracted with whatever nonsense was playing on TV, Tony had ordered pizza. And lots of it. When the delivery boy came and was utterly surprised when he saw Tony Stark answer the door, Tony handed over a generous amount of cash.

“How much for the pizza?” May asked, grabbing for her wallet. 

Tony set down two large pizzas and a few bottles of soda on the table. “Come on, May. It’s on me.”

“Tony, just because you make… _millions_ more than I make doesn’t mean you have to pay for everything,” May said. “Besides you gave Peter _a car.”_

Tony held his hands up. “First of all, I _lent_ Peter my car. When he goes to college and then becomes some kind of science or tech mogul, I expect him to return the favor. Second of all, you already have to buy a new lamp.” 

The banter between Tony and May lasted all while they plated the pizza and salad, as if they were part of some wonky, dysfunctional family. Peter joined the two adults at the kitchen table. On normal nights, Peter probably could have eaten a whole pizza just by himself. Right now, though, one look at the food in front of him and he felt sick to him stomach just smelling food. So, Peter pushed the plate away. The two adults looked down at him. 

“I’m really not that hungry,” Peter said. 

“Okay,” Tony said, which surprised Peter, who had assumed he would need to put up a much bigger fight than that.

“Well, I’m hungry,” May said, smiling. 

She and Tony ate their dinner quietly. When they were finished eating, Peter’s plate left untouched with what was three slices of cold sausage and pepperoni pizza, Tony and May cleared the table and Peter did the dishes. The adults tried to protest but Peter insisted — in fact, it was nice to be doing something that could keep Peter’s mind distracted. Tony and May picked up on the fact that Peter was trying to keep himself occupied, so when Peter was finished doing the dishes, the three of them sat down to play some board games while trying to watch a movie at the same time. After going through all the board games in Peter and May’s small stash, it was 10:30 that night. Peter could feel that he was starting to get tired, but the fact that every time he closed his eyes he kept seeing Betty’s face really discouraged any attempt of sleep. 

The movie they were watching just ended, too. As the credits started rolling, May tried to stifle a yawn. She was leaning against the armrest of the couch barely able to keep her eyes open. “You look like you’re ready for bed,” Tony pointed out. He put his hand on May’s arm.

Tony’s hand barely grazing May was enough to wake her back up. “No. No, I’m fine,” May said.

“May, if you want, why don’t you get to bed? I know you have work tomorrow,” Tony said.

May frowned. “Oh, I’m fine. I’ll probably take the day off from work if Peter wants to stay home.”

“I’ll be okay,” Peter said. “Seriously, May, you look exhausted. And, honestly, I’m probably just going to watch some TV right now, anyway.” 

“Peter—” May started.

“ _I’m fine,”_ Peter said through clenched teeth, suddenly, unexpectedly agitated. He took a deep breath. This wasn’t the time or the place to get angry. “Get some sleep. I’ll be okay.”

Her face softened. “Okay,” she whispered. She planted a kiss on Peter’s mused hair, ruffling it a little bit more. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Peter whispered. “Wait! One more thing.” May turned sharply. “Um, MJ and I wanted to keep volunteering at the soup kitchen together every weekend. Is that okay? Mr. Li—remember him from that restaurant at Chinatown that Ben really likes?—is the one who runs it.”

May’s eyes brightened, which seemed like an impossibility at a time like this. “Yeah… yeah, I remember him. Of course, you can keep volunteering there.” That brought a little joy to Peter, because he knew he would be able to give back to the community after so much ugliness in such a short span of time.

He walked May to her bedroom to give her another hug before letting her go to bed. When Peter returned, Tony was bustling about in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes, heating up a pot of water and warming up some old pizza on the stove. It was weird seeing Tony doing such domestic, _normal people_ things, especially since Peter had grown so accustomed to associating Tony Stark with Iron-Man… But then again, ever since Tony took Peter on as his ‘intern’, Peter’s seen the man do _a lot_ of things Peter would have never guessed.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were hungry,” Peter said, suddenly feeling another bout of guilt. “I should have made you something.”

“It’s not for me,” Tony said. “Come on. You need to eat.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Peter argued.

“You’re a growing teenage boy with mutated spider-genes, and you barely ate any of your dinner. I know you just went through something traumatic, but I’m not going to let you harm yourself,” Tony said. He set the plate of pizza in front of Peter with a frown on his face. “Now I want you to eat. _So, eat.”_ Clearly Tony wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so Peter took the plate of food, settled into a comfortable position on the couch and took a bite of the pizza. The more he ate, the more Peter’s stomach growled. Before he knew it, the two slices of pizza was gone. “Do you want more?”

Peter nodded, sheepishly. “I can get it myself,” Peter quickly said, standing up.

Tony put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and gently nudged Peter back onto the couch. “No, no. I can get it.” He gathered up the plate and going back to the kitchen. There was some shuffling around and then Tony yelled, “What kind of tea do you want?”

“Surprise me,” Peter said. 

Tony hurried to get the food prepped, which was good because the more Peter was alone, the more opportunities he had to think about what had happened today. Fortunately, Tony sat down on the couch beside Peter a few moments later. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Tony asked. The older man handed Peter the cup of tea he had just finished brewing and the plate of pizza. “Here you go. And it’s chamomile. With honey.”

“Thanks,” Peter muttered as he took the cup from his mentor. Rather than watching Peter to the point of making him uncomfortable, Tony got up from the couch and began to put away the food and honey, as well as wipe some of the counters down. The second Tony was gone, Peter grabbed for his phone for what felt like the millionth time that night. He tried to keep himself from getting his hopes up, especially since, when he checked his phone, there were no new messages. “Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked. Tony glanced at the cell phone still in Peter’s hand. “I know you millennials can’t go five minutes without checking their phone, but checking every two seconds seems a little excessive.”

Peter frowned. “I didn’t 2000s babies were considered millennials. But anyway, Cindy’s supposed to text us when she hears anything about Betty.”

“Oh,” Tony said. Peter was waiting for the _I’m sure she’s going to be okay_ or _I wouldn’t worry_ , but that never came, and there really didn’t seem like a good reason for Tony to say that anyway. Both Peter and Tony had been exposed to their fair share of empty promises. And they’ve said their fair share of meaningless promises to the public too. _We’ll keep your safe. Everything is going to be okay._ There was no way for Tony to guarantee that Betty was going to live, so there was no point in saying anything.

The conversation died quickly so the older man went back to bustling about the kitchen. Only, there was something else that was bothering Peter. “Tony?” Peter asked.

“Yeah?” he said. Tony, at Peter’s every beck-and-call, hurried to the teenage boy’s side. “What’s up?”

Peter stared at his mentor for a long second. The question burning in the back of Peter’s head was too hard for him to ask right now, so he settled for a different question. “I didn’t interrupt you doing anything important when I called, did I?”

Tony shook his head. “I was tinkering in my workshop… but that isn’t nearly as important as making sure you’re okay,” he said. “Anything else you were wanting to ask?”

Evidently, Tony could see straight through Peter, so Peter swallowed down his worry and asked the question he had been wanting to ask the whole time. “You said your AI was looking for leads on the shooters. Did they find anything?”

Tony frowned. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Peter, I’m not sure if—”

“Tony, they shot my friend,” Peter said, bluntly. “She might not make it through the night.”

“Peter—,” Tony started. He sat down beside the teenager, holding his hands up. “Peter, I understand that you’re—"

“Tony, you know I’m going to go behind your back to find these guys if you don’t tell me,” Peter said. “You told me to back off when Adrian Toomes was selling illegal weapons and look what happened: I botched an FBI operation and almost got a ferry blown to pieces. They shot my friend. This happened six blocks away from me!” Peter hadn’t realized that he had gotten up from where he was sitting and had raised his voice. “How do we know these people, whatever their sick motivation was behind doing this, aren’t going to go after this apartment next? What if May gets hurt? What if you and I can’t get everyone to the hospital?! And after what happened in with the paramedics and not being able to protect them, I can’t live with myself if—”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Tony interrupted, holding his hands up in surrender. He put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and pushed the teenager back onto the couch. “Okay. Catch your breath, kid, you’ve made your point.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter stammered. His head felt heavy. “I didn’t mean to get so worked up. I’m just really worried about Betty.”

“I know,” Tony said. He put his arm around the teenage boy and pulled him into a half-hug. “Why don’t you take a few days off—”

“Tony, I thought I made it clear—”

“Hear me out,” Tony said, sharply. He wasn’t being rude, and he didn’t sound angry, but Tony was firm, and Peter fell silent. “You just went through something traumatic. And the death of those paramedics definitely isn’t helping. You’re not going to be thinking straight when you’re so worried about what’s going on with Betty. Let yourself process what happened before you throw yourself in the middle of a fight… Check in on your friends. Check in on yourself. And I know self-control is difficult for teenagers so, at the very least, promise me that you’re going to call me if you _do_ decide to go on rounds. And once I figure out what’s going on with shooters or learn any new information, I promise, I’ll tell you everything I know. Does that sound like a deal?”

All things considered, that was a pretty good offer from Tony. “Yeah… yeah, that sounds good.” Peter paused and pushed his luck a little bit with the next question. “What about the vandal from the paramedics the other night? Have you learned anything new about that, yet?” 

Tony shook his head. “Not yet,” he said through clenched teeth. There was a part of Peter that suspected Tony was lying—he was one of the smartest, richest and most well-connected men in the United States. It just didn’t make sense that there wasn’t a single lead yet on the vandal from the other night. “Whoever rescued the vandal had disabled all security footage from buildings and the police cars in the surrounding area so we’re flying blind right now. We’ll find something. We always do.”

Fortunately, Peter didn’t have to wait long to hear back from Tony. The following day, Peter unintentionally woke up early to a mass of group texts that announced to Peter that not only was most of the decathlon team skipping school that day but also that Betty had a successful surgery. Successful, of course, being a subjective term. Betty was as lucky as she could have gotten considering where the bullet had hit her. Yes, it was in her lower abdomen, but it _somehow_ missed most of the vital organs. They were able to remove the bullet from her, too, but the timeline of her recovery was still shaky. In fact, there wasn’t much firm information on Betty other than her organs weren’t severely damaged and that was currently in the ICU. Her parents didn’t know if she had infections in her kidneys or intestines, when she would be released from the hospital or any of the long-term effects. Whether Betty lived or not was still up in the air, but things were looking… Peter wasn’t going to use the word _optimistic_ , but, at the very least, things were looking better than they had yesterday.

After getting updates on Betty’s status, Peter was about to roll back asleep. Only, the sound of May’s voice kept him awake. “I know I asked for those days off, but I really need to be home today,” May said. Peter could tell that she was trying to be quiet, but Peter’s honed senses made even a whisper seem like yelling sometimes. “I understand that I’ve called in a lot this past year, but, come on, you heard about what happened with my boy.”

Peter bit his lip. Yawning, he flung his sheets off and opened up his door. Sure enough, May was standing right outside, still in her robe, clutching her phone. “May,” Peter said, still groggy from sleep. “If you have to work, that’s okay. I’m okay, really.” 

May frowned. “How does a half-day sound? I can come in this afternoon.” There was a pause and her boss answered with what sounded like— “ _Thank you!”_ May exclaimed. “Yes. I’ll see you at 1:00 today.” She hung the phone and gave Peter a sheepish smile. May brushed her hands against Peter’s cheek. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “I should get up, anyway. It’s already…” Peter stopped talking, considering that he didn’t know what time it was.

“6:30 in the morning,” May said. “Go back to bed. You look exhausted.”

“Really, I’m alright,” Peter said.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get today off,” May said.

“That’s alright,” Peter said. It wasn’t like Peter could actually be mad at May’s bosses. Though Peter stopped visiting May at work before Ben had even died, he remembered liking all of her coworkers and bosses. From what Peter understood, May told her bosses everything about her life: adopting Peter after his parents died, Uncle Ben dying, Peter having breakdowns last year (though elements of that story was kept private both out of respect for Peter and for Peter’s secret identity). They know of all the hardships she’s faced, and they’ve been nothing short of compromising and understanding. When May had to go back to full-time after Ben was killed, her bosses found room for her and welcomed her with warm arms.

“What are your plans for the day?” May asked.

Peter shrugged. “Maybe I’ll do homework. Just whatever it takes to keep my mind off of things.”

“Heard Betty’s surgery was successful,” May said. They were in the kitchen now. May set out two bowls of cereal on the kitchen table, where Peter and May sat down together.

“How’d you know that?” Peter asked.

“Your principal sent out an email about what happened,” May said. “They were asking for donations, too. It’s supposed to be a pretty hefty medical bill and Betty’s insurance definitely isn’t enough to cover it.”

Peter bit on his lip. Being Spider-Man, he worries about saving people’s lives when someone is exposed directly to danger. Peter focuses on stopping someone from getting mugged, breaking up a robbery or, in this case, getting someone to a hospital. But sometimes people need help beyond just in that instance. Peter never thought about medical bills, surgery, the continuous trauma. It wasn’t like Peter and May had money to spare. Rent, food and gas alone were sometimes too hefty of a price. “Did we donate anything?”

“$100,” May said. She sighed. “I know it’s not much, but at least you spared her the cost of riding in an ambulance.” As much as it may have seemed like a joke, Peter knew May wasn’t kidding. Ambulance rides, especially ones that have to be equipped to handle a gunshot victim, cost at least $1000.

“It’s something,” Peter said. “Do you know how much has been raised for them?”

“A pretty decent amount,” May said. “There’s a page in the email that shows us how much money has been donated so far. They’ve raised almost a third of their goal.”

“That’s good, at least,” Peter said. 

He glanced at his food and suddenly, he didn’t feel so hungry, anymore. 

He had an idea forming in his head, one to help Betty with costs even more. When breakfast was over, May stayed in the kitchen to do some work at home so that she wouldn’t be too far behind tomorrow at work. Meanwhile, Peter went to his bedroom where he took out his laptop and started to FaceTime Tony. The older man answered without the first ring even finishing. Tony was still in his bedroom, which Peter had seen only once when he was first being given a tour of the Avengers’ Compound. Peter recognized the skylight windows over top and the massive, expensive artwork right behind his mentor’s head. Judging by the red, puffy eyes, it appeared that Peter had woken his mentor up mid-slumber.

“Oh. Shit, sorry, Mr. Stark. I can call back later if this is a bad time,” Peter said.

“No, no, that’s okay,” Tony said, trying to stifle a yawn. He kicked the sheets off of him and got out from his bed. “What’s going on, kid?” Tony asked as he made his way down the flight of stairs and into the kitchen downstairs. “Is it Betty?”

“Uh, well, yeah. She’s okay,” Peter said, quickly. “I mean, as okay as she can be after what happened. She’s out of surgery and it looks like the bullet didn’t hit anything serious.”

“That’s good,” Tony said. Peter bit his lip. “Is something bothering you?” Leave it to Tony to notice.

Peter hesitated. The last thing Peter wanted was for Mr. Stark to think that he’s taking advantage of the older man. Mr. Stark has given Peter everything: a suit, a new family, hope, comfort. And Peter felt like he was just constantly taking and taking and taking and not giving anything in return. Only, Peter couldn’t think of what else to do. “Tony, I know I ask a lot of you but…”

“For god sake’s kid, you woke me up. Come on. Just spit it out,” Tony said, smirking.

“Our principal sent out an email to all the families at Midtown, explaining that, uh… Betty’s parents can’t afford the medical bills. May and I donated some money, but I was just wondering…” Peter faltered. His face flushed bright red, this terrible sense of guilt twisting his stomach into fervent knots. “I’m sorry. I know people probably ask you for money all the time and the more and more you spend—”

“Of course, I’ll help your friend out, Peter,” Tony said. “Can you send the link to the fundraising page?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. Gratitude flooded through him. Peter tried to put was he was feeling into words, but a simple _thank you_ or _you have no idea what this means to me_ didn’t seem to fairly and accurately represent what he was feeling. Saying nothing seemed even worse, though, than simplifying Peter’s gratitude. “Mr. Stark, thank you,” Peter tempted. “I mean… everything that you’ve done—”

“It’s alright, Peter,” Tony interrupted. Though it was obvious Peter was trying to be serious, Tony looked like he was on the verge of laughing. “How many times are going to go over this, Peter? I’d do anything for you kid. What’s a few thousand dollars anyway, when you own a multimillion-dollar enterprise?”

Peter smiled, but this was one of many donations Tony would give out every month to support families who had been impacted from various crimes or catastrophic events. “Guess that’s true. Still, this means a lot to me. More than you could probably ever know,” Peter said, and he meant it.

Tony returned the gesticulation with his own warm smile. “Anything for your friend. And for you.” Tony was out of his bedroom now and into the kitchen; based on the movements in the background, Tony looked like he was prepping for breakfast that morning: taking things out of the pantries, rinsing out the coffee pot. “Did May get time off work today?”

Peter shook his head. “She’s going in this afternoon,” Peter explained. “Is everything alright? You seem a little… on edge.”

Tony frowned. “I know I gave you that long speech yesterday about you needing to take some time off but, uh, do you want to come to the compound today? There’s just some things I need to talk to you about.”

“About the shooters yesterday?” Peter asked.

Tony nodded. “I don’t know a lot but… it’s important, Peter.”

“Oh… okay,” Peter said. “Of course. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Tony tried to smile, but Peter’s seen enough fake smiles all of his life: when May tried to put on a façade that she was okay after Uncle Ben had died or when MJ, last year, tried the hide what was really happening in her life. Peter _hated_ fake smiles. “It’s not like that, Peter,” Tony said. His voice was shaky. Again, not enough to convince Peter that it wasn’t actually a big deal. “We just need to talk… and not over a phone.” Peter tried hard not to dwell on that. Rarely was Tony ever this secretive, not to mention he seemed _scared,_ scared even for someone who lived in one of the most secure buildings in the world. “Tell May that I can—” Tony paused as he struggled for the right word, “—watch you while she’s at work.”

Peter scoffed. “Watch me? I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You know what I mean,” Tony said.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll take care of it,” Peter said. “I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

When Peter mentioned Tony’s invitation, May gleefully said yes, something about how she didn’t want Peter to be alone today. Peter spent the remaining time between when he needed to be at the compound and now checking on his friends. Well versed with knowing how traumatic any experience with a gun can be, especially one that involves watching someone you care about get shot, Peter wanted to make sure that everyone on the team was okay. Like him, most of the teammates had decided to stay home from school that day to process what happened yesterday. Peter went down the list of everyone that was there, starting with Gwen and then Cindy, both of whom were absolutely beside themselves in shock. Gwen was doing better than Cindy, all things considering, but that was probably just because her dad was the chief of police and she knew all too well what horrible things people can do to each other. Flash was handling things pretty poorly. His parents, rich workaholic investors, were almost never home and so there really wasn’t anyone for Flash to be with right now besides his parents’ assistants who practically raised him. It was the first time Peter saw a crack in Flash’s normally arrogant, witty and sarcastic personality. But he was managing, at the very least. Then, Peter called Jason. Followed by Abraham. Isabella. And Ned, who was doing okay and was still surprisingly optimistic, despite everything that had happened. 

And finally, MJ. Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t the most worried about MJ and how she was handling herself. He didn’t know what trigger points she had, especially coming off the experience with her father. She has made a lot of progress with recovering from the prolonged abuse she faced as a kid, but violence of any sort could really damage any progress she’s been making. When MJ answered the FaceTime, she was in her bedroom, hair pulled into a loose bun, and she was setting aside her sketchbook. 

“Hi,” she said. Her voice sounded weak. “I see your staying home from school, too?”

“Yeah,” Peter said through a heavy breath. “May thought it would be good for me to stay home for the day. Speaking of May, she said that it was okay for me to volunteer at the soup kitchen with you every Sunday.”

Michelle’s face lit up as her lips spread into a warm smile. “Great, I’ll let Mr. Li. I’m sure he’s really excited,” she said. 

The two faltered for a second. Behind the smile she had plastered on her face, Peter could see the pain in her eyes. And fear. And anxiety. “How are you feeling?” Peter asked. Before MJ could say anything, Peter quickly added, “Seriously. Are you okay?”

MJ bit her lip, tears forming in her eyes. “Who would do this?” she whispered. MJ has seen a lot of ugliness in her life, everywhere from her mother dying when she was younger to the endless trauma and torture her father subjected to her. The fact that she looked so _upset_ right now really made Peter feel the magnitude and weight of what happened. “Betty could die. They could have killed one of us… they could have killed you.” Peter wanted to say something to comfort her, but what could he say? So, he waited. Let her gather her thoughts. She wiped a few tears away before continuing. “You’re going to find who did this, right?”

“Tony and I are going to try,” he said, quietly. And they would. Peter didn’t care what it took. He would stay up every night, go hunting in the shadows like the vigilante some of the newspapers painted him out to be. Peter had to find these people who did this Betty. And the vandal. And all the other criminals who would ever threaten to do acts as horrible as what had happened this past weekend. What had once fueled the guilt that drove Peter mad was fueling Peter’s motivation now. “I promise. I’m not going to give up.”

“Please be careful,” MJ whispered. “ _P_ _lease.”_

“Always.”

* * *

On the way to the Compound, Peter slowed down as he passed Mr. Delmar’s establishment to check out the damage done: his convenient store was taped off with police tape and there were still officers on sight taking pictures and examining the walls. A tarp covered the hole where there once was a glass window. The street looked eerily deserted, even though it was in the afternoon during the lunch rush. Peter didn’t have much time to look at the place because a few seconds later the light he was stopped at turned green. He sped away, down the street and to the highway, all the while with his windows rolled down, trying to soak in the fresh air. Driving was relaxing to Peter. Blaring music, taking in the sights. People who didn’t know Peter would assume he was a bad driver, always distracted and everything; his spider-senses, however, would never let him get in a car accident. Peter drove up the final hill and slowed around the last curve until the Avengers’ Compound was in sight. Waiting in the driveway was Tony Stark.

“You found it alright,” Tony said, holding his arms out to give Peter a hug.

“Yeah, yeah. The spider-senses aren’t going to let me get lost,” Peter said. 

“You heard anything else about Betty?” Tony asked.

“She’s out of surgery, but that’s all,” Peter admitted. 

The compound was split into two parts: one for the business aspect of Stark Industries, home of Pepper’s office and the workspace for so many other adults; and the other part being the living quarters for the Avengers. Right now, they were going straight to the headquarters for Stark Industries. Peter had never been here before—despite being widely known as Stark’s intern, there was never a reason for him to visit this space. Now, they were walking straight through it. It was weird seeing all of these other adults, bustling around with their own agendas and tasks to get done, looking so serious and stoic. As Tony and Peter walked through the business, it felt like all eyes were staring at him and Tony. Peter thought it would be too egotistical of him to think that they were jealous of him. At the very least, they were curious about Tony and his intern. Their relationship. Whatever made Peter so important that Mr. Stark would have him over or take care of him as though Peter was his own kid. The closer Peter and Tony got to the actual living quarters for the Avengers, the fewer and fewer workers there were to stare at the two of them. To access the living quarters, you had to be registered in a touchpad, which Tony pressed his thumb against and the door to the Avengers’ home opened wide.

It hadn’t been long since the last time Peter was here. And it looked just as deserted as ever. “Vision and Rhodes still aren’t back?” Peter asked, though it really was more a statement than a question.

“Not yet,” Tony said. “Vision is in and out of meetings all of world and some of Ross’s men are starting to suspect that Rhodes is double crossing them. He is, but… he’s trying to lay low right now. Can’t leave where he’s hiding just yet.”

“And Pepper?”

“She’s…” Tony started, but faltered.

Peter’s sharpened senses heard the low rumbling of a car engine turning off and the sound of suitcases hitting the ground. Right on cue, the front door of the living quarters right down the hall, creaked open. There was some thumping around, some scuffling, the clicking of heels and then, “Tony? Tony, where are you? Can you come help with these bags?” It was Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries, the mastermind behind this multi-million dollar corporation.

“That’s our cue,” Tony said, hitting Peter’s leg. The two of them got up and went to the hallway where Pepper Potts, wearing black jeans and cream-colored blouse, was hauling a suitcase and then a small briefcase into the hallway. “Hey,” Tony said, this warm, bright smile that rarely comes up. Tony took the luggage from Pepper and leaned forward to kiss her on the forhead. “You remember Mr. Parker, right?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Of course,” Pepper said. “Have you been here long?”

“I just got here,” Peter said. “Where did you just come from?” Peter asked, pointing toward the luggage.

“Business trip. _Someone_ has to make sure Stark Industries stays up and running,” Pepper said. She glanced at Tony before saying, “So, I’m guessing Mr. Stark has told you the good news already?”

Tony’s eyes went wide. “Uh, Pepper… I actually haven’t…”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “What is she talking about? What good news? Wait, are you… _expecting?_ Am I going to be the godfather?!”

“What? No,” Pepper said, laughing. She walked over to Peter and held her hand up. _The diamond ring_ on her ring finger was glaringly obvious, this huge band with massive diamonds decorating it. Peter’s mouth dropped. He looked back and forth from Pepper to Tony, completely awestruck.

Peter gasped. “Oh my god! Are you serious?!” Peter exclaimed. He took hold of Pepper’s finger, fighting the urge to take the ring off of Pepper’s finger and stare at it. “Wait, when did this happen?”

“Pretty recently,” Pepper said. “I can’t believe Tony didn’t tell you, though.” She hit Tony in the arm.

“The kid seemed pretty the distracted. I didn’t want to—,” Tony started.

“Are you kidding me? This is awesome! I need to tell May!” Peter exclaimed. He started scrambling for his phone and then realized that he had forgotten to ask Tony a very important question: “Wait… can I tweet about this?”

“Give me that!” Tony said, making a mad grab for Peter’s phone. “You need to calm down.”

“Right,” Peter said. He felt like he was hyperventilating. “Right. I don’t even have a twitter. I don’t know why I said that. I’m just super excited. Honestly, this must be the best thing that’s happened to you in years, man! This is so totally—”

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, laughing. He put his arms around Peter before turning to Pepper. “This is why I waited to tell you, Peter. Why don’t you let us take your bags upstairs? You hungry?”

“I’ll find something,” Pepper said. “Don’t you two boys have something important to talk about?”

“That we do,” Tony said. He leaned over to kiss Pepper on the forehead.

Peter had so much energy from hearing about the great news that he picked up Pepper’s suitcase and briefcase and hurried up to the master bedroom without even breaking a sweat. Tony has been through hell from having an indifferent, greedy and abusive father (at least, that’s how Tony characterized his father), to getting tortured by the Ten Rings, to all the unjustified hate he’s received because of collateral damage and then losing the Avengers. Tony deserved happiness and _domestic bliss_. Not to mention, Pepper was honestly good for Tony. He was sometimes impulsive or obsessive, and Pepper was structured. They balanced each other perfectly.

After dropping off Pepper’s luggage in the master bedroom, they went up to the conference rooms on the upper levels. Peter had only been here once before, and that was when he, Vision and Tony were being recruited by Secretary Ross under the Sokovia Accords to go to some place in Europe to infiltrate headquarters for a crime group called the Secret Empire. Wondering if that wasn’t going to be the case again, Peter awkwardly looked around the empty conference room. Tony stood at the head of the table with a nervous smile on his face. He pointed to one of the chairs, which Peter sat in, not saying a word. Sitting here always made Peter feel so strange, so _official._ To think that this was once the chair that Captain America may have sat at before one of their missions was so bizarre to him. Though Tony always had a flair for the dramatic, Peter knew something must have really been bothering him. If they’re having a meeting in the most secure and most private room in the whole compound, something was wrong. 

“Tony, what’s going on?” Peter asked when his mentor hadn’t said anything. “Is this about the shooters yesterday? Did you find something out?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“Were you able to identify them?” Peter asked. _No answer._ “I want to know what’s going on.” Tony didn’t say anything at first, and Peter felt a flair of anger surge inside him. “You promised me you would tell me the truth. They shot my friend. I have a right to know!”

“I am… I am,” Tony said. “Look, Peter, I don’t completely know what’s going on myself and this is pure speculation so I could even be wrong.” Tony stopped himself. With a tap of his finger on the small tablet in front of him, Tony pulled up a picture on the TV screen in front of the conference table. It was of some graffiti on the wall. It didn’t look like anything all that special: two circles overlapped each other to form a Venn diagram and then there was a huge X right through the center. “Do you recognize this?”

Peter stared at it for a while longer and then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. You could find graffiti anywhere in New York, so it’s not like graffiti is anything worth paying attention to all that much. But from the beginning of this year and even during the summer, Iron-Man and Spider-Man have been cracking down on graffiti artists. Now that Peter was thinking about it, this particular symbol has been showing up pretty frequently. In fact, a lot of the graffiti artists Peter had stopped have been making pretty similar symbols to this. At the time, though, Peter was only concerned about scaring off the vandal, not taking notes on the actual graffiti. “What is it? What does it mean? Does it have something to do with the vandal we stopped the other day?”

“Like I said, it’s purely speculation, but I believe so. The vandals, the shooters, this symbol, it’s all connected.” Peter didn’t see anything in response, his throat feeling suddenly thick with fear. “I did some digging,” Tony continued. “Probably in places that I’m not supposed to be going through, but if the World Security Council cared about keeping people out of their files, they wouldn’t have made it so easy to hack.”

Peter chuckled, a throaty laugh that Peter had to force out of his mouth. “I doubt they expected Tony Stark to be rifling through their files. What did you find?”

“It’s the symbol for the Maggia Crime Syndicate. Have you heard of them?” Tony asked.

“Never,” Peter said. “Is it supposed to be like a gang?”

“Worse,” Tony said. “They’re one of the most powerful crime organizations in the world. No matter how tragic theft and murdering and corruption you have already faced in your short time as Spider-Man, nothing compares to some of the horrors hidden in the underground, shadowed criminal network. Members of the Maggia have absolutely no ethical code. It composed of some of the most callous, insidious men and women I’ve faced. They started in Europe in the 1800s and they’ve spread rapidly. They consumed non-Communist Europe and America within decades. They control almost all illegal gambling, loan-sharking, and narcotics trade on this side of the US, and they’ve been working their way to the west coast. They own casinos all the way down to Las Vegas. Peter, these people have hands and eyes and ears _everywhere_. Hell, this room is probably one of the few places in New York that’s safe from them.”

Peter normally never ventured into the organized crime and gang violence in New York. If he was trying to save someone’s life, he would get in the way, but getting yourself involved in gangs and crime syndicates never ended well. They had connections to places Peter could never grasp, lies and deceptions and control so tangled it would take more than just Spider-Man to undo it all. Peter swallowed hard, trying to keep himself from looking too worried. “And they have ties in New York, I’m guessing?”

Tony swiped through the photos on the tablet, each a different angle of the symbol in a different place across Queens. He recognized some of the buildings, too. Small businesses in Queens all the way to high-end insurance companies in Upstate New York. “Everywhere… and they’re deep-seeded. The Maggia control stems back almost hundred years in New York. They’re wealthy and they’re powerful. They have influence all over labor unions, they control half the damn businesses here and they have politicians on every level of government in their front pocket. Hell, we go about this wrong and we piss off the Maggia Crime Syndicate, they could find ways to pull funding for your own damn high school.”

“If they’re this powerful, how come no one has stopped them? How come I haven’t even heard of them?” Peter asked.

“Don’t be naïve, Peter,” Tony said. “According to the Council’s file, they hide behind legitimate businesses, businesses that the anti-syndicate task forces haven’t been able to trace quite yet. They don’t attack, kill, vandalize, or break the law unless absolutely provoked. No one knows how deep their membership ties are because it’s not like we’re fighting Ultron-Bots, which stick out like a sore thumb in downtown Queens. They’re faceless. They contain their secrets even better than Hydra. Sacrificing themselves for the Maggia as if it’s as easy as breathing. And any trace of betrayal is sniffed almost immediately. Hell, there’s probably more internal killing than there is Maggia members going out into the world and killing innocent people.”

Peter paused. “Okay…” he muttered. “But if they’re so secret, how did they get your attention? You said that you think they’re responsible for shooting Betty. And for killing all those paramedics. Why? What’s your proof?”

Tony frowned. “That’s what’s so unusual about this situation. Like I said, the Maggia isn’t well known for this level of public violence and they don’t typically showcase their symbol across local businesses.”

“Unless?”

“Unless they’re expanding their claim over New York,” Tony said. “At least, that’s what I’m postulating. They’re not this bold, normally, but this is optimal timing for them because the World Security Council, who typically enlists task forces to monitor and control these types of threats are a little distracted hunting down exiled Avengers.”

It was all falling into place now. Why Tony had been sidelining Peter so much, especially as of late. It wasn’t because Tony was worried about his protégé. There were bigger problems at hand and Tony didn’t say anything because Peter getting involved with such a deadly syndicate was… dangerous, although dangerous didn’t even seem like a strong enough word. And the fact that the World Security Council was too distracted wasting time and money to arrest Captain America and was willing to let countless New Yorkers die because of it made Peter _angry._ “That’s why you’ve been having me go after graffiti artists?” Peter said, quietly. 

Tony nodded. “I’m guessing they claim their territory by branding these buildings with their symbol. If Spider-Man is lurking around those areas, it might keep the Maggia from spreading. That’s why we went after the vandal last week. Some of the files I pulled from the World Security Council contains speculations of powerful families connecting to the Maggia. The family names they use are traditionally aliases, so it makes it more difficult to track who is Maggia and who isn’t.” Tony typed something into the computer again. A picture of a very old man with withered skin and stark white hair, his lips pulled into a nasty scowl, popped up. “This is Silvio Manfredi. He’s one of the richest men in Italy and controls so much of the country’s wealth that he’s practically untouchable. He’s the leader of the Silvermane family, one of the more powerful factions of the Maggia. Other families include the Hammerhead family and the Nefaria family. Because pictures of who is connected to these family are so hard to come by, most of what we’re doing is a guessing game. There’s no way of knowing whether the vandal is Maggia or not, but, considering the last one was armed with a semiautomatic and nearly kicked our asses, I’d say it’s a fair bet they were.”

Something snapped in Peter. He pushed the chair out from under him, controlling every urge to punch a wall. “If you suspected that the vandal from the other night was Maggia, maybe we should have gone with paramedics?”

Tony frowned. “I didn’t think…” he stopped. “It isn’t the Maggia’s MO to save a suspected member from arrest. It’s too bold…”

“So, all those paramedics died because you made an assumption?!”

“I know…” Tony whispered, quietly. This was the first time Peter had really seen any form of guilt manifesting itself in Tony’s appearance. Guilt and pain were regular emotions in Tony Stark’s life, but he hid it so well. Maybe it was the need to hide weaknesses, or maybe Tony was doing for Peter’s sake. He couldn’t even make eye contact with Peter. “I know. We should have gone with them. Nothing I can say and do or try to fix will ever make up for those lives. We have to live with that, now. _I_ have to live with that… 

Peter’s expression softened as he tried to put himself in Tony’s shoes. If Tony had been injured, Peter would have done everything to make sure he would be okay. They thought the vandal was taken down. Whoever it was had been so badly injured, why would Peter and Tony suspect something like this would have happened? It was so normal for the Avengers to find the bad guys and take them down and then let the local authorities take care of it. Peter did the same thing with the Vulture last year. Once the criminal couldn’t fight back anymore, Peter never spared a second thought… Sighing, Peter sat back down and looked up at the holographic pictures in front of them. When Peter finally had the courage to speak, he asked quietly, “Why didn’t you have me apprehend the vandals? Because they would sacrifice themselves and we would stuck at square one?”

Tony nodded. He took a deep breath to get a hold of himself, though his hands were still visibly shaking. “Yes, and maybe we could have gotten away with the first one or two men… but if you had done that, the Maggia would have come after you, Peter. They have ties everywhere. Secret identities aside, they’ll find out your pressure points and they wouldn’t hesitate to use them,” Tony said. Tony and Peter didn’t say anything for a long second, as Peter let what Tony was saying sink in. May. MJ. Ned. “We have to be careful. We have to be smart. Each move we make needs to be planned. If they’re willing to do what they did to the paramedics, who knows what they’ll do to the two of us if they find out we’re going after them?”

“So, we are going after them?” Peter asked.

Tony nodded. “I’m not sure we can bring them down ourselves. And any move we make will have rippling effects all the way around the world.”

“What about that drive-by yesterday?” Peter asked. “How did you connect them to the Maggia?”

“Because of this,” Tony said. He tapped another few buttons on the tablet and the picture of the graffiti faded into a blurry security camera footage. It was of the car from the shooting yesterday. “I tried to clean up the image as much as I could but the Maggia aren’t stupid. They must have jammed all the security cameras in the area.”

“How do they even do that?”

“How did I hack into the World Security Council before even getting out of bed?” Tony muttered. “They’re smart. And well connected. Watch,” he said. And Peter did. The camera didn’t pick up much, other than the car speeding away before taking an erratic turn into the hallway. There was still plenty of chaos happening around, from the yelling and the running. Peter watched as the shooters, these massive, burly men, hurried out of the car. They were wearing laymen clothes, which meant that they easily disappeared in the masses of people. The camera never picked up their faces, but it froze on a clear image of their backs. The camera zoomed in to a near unnoticeable black tattoo on one of the shooter’s neck. It was half of the Maggia symbol; Peter recognized the circle with part of an X going through it. “I know it’s not much, but obviously that guy didn’t do a great job covering up the Maggia symbol. Plus, I, er, I went through the police files. The ballistics on the bullets that was used in the shooting came from the same type of gun that Maggia Crime Syndicate tends to use. Just going off the type of guns is a stretch, but that coupled with the tattoo and the fact that the Maggia has ties to local businesses… it just makes sense that the Maggia Crime Syndicate has something to do with the shooting.”

Peter bit his lip. “So, you think they were going after Mr. Delmar? I don’t understand. Mr. Delmar is a stand-up guy. I’ve known him ever since I moved in with May and Ben. What would a crime syndicate want with him?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said. “I don’t know if they want Mr. Delmar dead or if they were trying to scare him or if he was even the target… but I think it’s time for Spider-Man to pay Mr. Delmar a visit.”


	5. My town. My city. My home.

_“Keeping a secret isn’t always lying._

_Sometimes it’s the only way to the protect the person you love.”_

~ Jodi Picoult ~

Chapter Five: My town. My city. _My home._

For the rest of the day, Tony filled Peter in on everything he knew about the Maggia Crime Syndicate. Considering that the Maggia took secrecy seriously, the only _alleged_ members Tony could tell Peter about were the ones that were dead and no longer had any ties to the Maggia Crime Syndicate. The reasoning behind many of these deaths were pure speculation from the World Security Council, FBI, and CIA, ranging anywhere from getting in a gun fight with Maggia enemies to being executed by the higher ups in the crime syndicate. Whenever there was an overthrow within the Maggia and a new family came to power, almost the entire old family would be wiped out. Normally, any enemies or Maggia members were killed in fire. 

“Fun history lesson, but what do we do now?” Peter asked. He clenched his fist and eyed the device around his wrist. “You said I’m going to talk to Mr. Delmar, right?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. Mr. Delmar has to be involved with the Maggia somehow.”

“When do I go?” Peter asked.

“We have to be careful about how we go about this,” Tony said. “If the Maggia catches wind of Mr. Delmar talking to Spider-Man then he’s a dead man walking. The Maggia know that the two of us have been cracking down on the graffiti artists, and they know that Spider-Man protects Queens from danger. I’m betting on them not being surprised if Spider-Man turns up to visit Mr. Delmar. Just try to avoid asking him about the Maggia Crime Syndicate out right,” Tony explained. 

“And it’ll just be me talking to Mr. Delmar?” Peter said.

Tony nodded. “Yeah. I’m guessing Mr. Delmar trusts the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man more than he does Iron-Man.”

“This is all we’ll be doing?” Peter asked. “Just dropping by Mr. Delmar’s convenient store and asking him if there’s someone he knows that might want to kill him? Because if the Maggia is as scary as they sound, I don’t think we’ll get much out of him.”

Tony grinned. “I may not be Natasha Romanoff, but I know a thing or two about spying on people. While you’re outside _distracting_ Mr. Delmar, I’ll be in his store sweeping for bugs and setting up our own. Even if the Maggia isn’t after Mr. Delmar, whoever just shot up his store is. He’s going to be way too scared to even tell Spider-Man what’s going on in his life. And we’re going to go through his phone and bank records,” Tony admitted, looking guilty. “I quite frankly don’t care about his personal information and I have no intention of spilling that information to the rest of the world… as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with the Maggia.”

“What if it does have something to do with the Maggia?” Peter asked, ignoring the invasion of privacy he was willingly going along with. There would be a time and place to process _that_ guilt.

“Then we’ll come up with a new plan to help your friend,” Tony said. “We’ll need to lay low, especially since his place is an active crime scene, which means police officers will be in and out of the place. FRIDAY and I will get there first and do recon to make sure we won’t have any unwelcome visitors. Once we’ve given you the clear, you’ll come in, distract Delmar and let me do the rest.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a feasible plan for now. They ended the meeting there, knowing that there wasn’t anything left to discuss about the Maggia Crime Syndicate. Tony made Peter and Pepper dinner, during which they FaceTimed Aunt May, who was still at work, to tell her the news about their engagement; May was just as excited as Peter had been to hear the good news. When they were finished eating, Peter decided it’d be best to get home since he still had homework to finish up and needed to get ready for school the next day. Unlike on the way here, Peter didn’t find the drive back to his apartment nearly as relaxing. He hit rush hour traffic, so he barely broke twenty miles per hour for what felt like the entire time he was driving on main roads. To top it off, Peter didn’t realize how paranoid he could get until he learned about the syndicate. It was ridiculous to think that one conversation with Tony was enough to tip off the most dangerous crime syndicate that Spider-Man had taken an interest in them, but that didn’t stop Peter from checking every car creeping past him.

Anxiety kept Peter up that whole night, which meant he was groggy and irritated and out of it the next day at school. He wasn’t the only person who didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, though. Most of the decathlon members hadn’t recovered from what happened Monday night. Gwen and Cindy still hadn’t come back to school, but everyone else had. Jason, Flash and MJ were all waiting by Peter’s locker when he and Ned walked into school. Even though Peter got a sense of what condition they were in when he talked to them yesterday, they looked bad in person. Absolutely exhausted and shaky and scared.

MJ reached for Peter immediately and yanked him into a hug. She completely enveloped him in her arms and didn’t let go for what seemed like a whole minute, as though this hug was the only thing keeping MJ from thinking about what happened. “Are you okay?” she whispered when she finally let go of him. 

Peter slipped his hand in MJ’s hand. “Yeah,” Peter whispered. “I’m okay.” He looked at his other three friends. “How are you guys holding up?” 

“Alright,” Flash said. The blank expression on his face quickly turned into a sharp frown as he glared at Peter. “I suppose you should be in the best condition considering you just happened to not be around when Betty was bleeding out in front of us.” 

Peter bit his lip. Leave it to Flash to be so callous about what happened. 

Ned immediately came to his friend’s defense. “Come on, Flash. Is now really the time to give Peter shit?” Ned asked.

“I’m just saying, you guys don’t find it at all suspicious that any time something bad happens Peter just _happens_ to not be around?” Flash muttered. That sent a shiver down Peter’s back. Flash was smart. In fact — and Peter would never admit this to his nemesis’s face — Flash was one of the smartest kids in the school. If there was anyone at school smart enough to figure out Peter’s secret identity, it was Flash.

“Dude, what are you even implying?” Jason said, rolling his eyes.

Flash glared at Peter, then just shrugged. “ _Nothing._ All I’m saying is that Parker must be _really_ lucky to not be around to see Betty and to be around at DC when we almost died.”

All his friends turned to look at Peter, waiting for an explanation. When Peter couldn’t think of one, all he said was, “I’m sorry. I should have been there for you guys—” 

Flash stared at Peter, glowering. He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just taking my frustration out on you,” he admitted. “You’re such an easy target, sometimes.”

The bell rung, and Peter and his friends parted ways. He and MJ both had English that morning, so they walked there together, hand in hand. Word about what happened to the decathlon team, especially after that email, spread fast, like all stories do in a high school. Thankfully, most people understood not to ask questions about what it was like to almost die. Every now and then someone would ask how they were doing or if they needed someone to talk to you. They were met with gracious, kind smiles and _lots of pity._ Peter used to hate all that pity, even felt that he was undeserving of it at times. But Dr. Strange (of all people, given his arrogant and stubborn façade) taught him that pity was just someone’s way of caring. Their English teacher, this new young brunette woman who looked as though she had just finished grad school, heard about the shooting and talked to Peter and MJ after class to express her sorrow and explain that she was there for him. Her and _every_ teacher Peter had today.

“How many teachers told you that their door is always open in case you needed to talk?” Peter asked as he and MJ were scouting out a spot in the library for decathlon practice after school.

“All of them,” MJ said. She didn’t meet eyes with Peter.

Peter didn’t like that. Even though MJ always acted like she preferred to keep her emotions hidden from others, she was always open with him. “I know you’ve been asked this probably a thousand times today and I know I’ve asked this before but… _are_ you okay? And it’s okay if you’re not. I know firsthand what something like this could do to a person.”

MJ set her backpack down at the chair in front of her, and she looked at Peter, clearly trying to hold back tears. She swallowed hard. “No,” MJ admitted. She grabbed onto Peter’s hand tightly. “My father had his grip on me my whole life, and it kept me from making real friends… until I joined the decathlon team. I feel like I finally have a place where I belong. I’m not ready to lose a friend. Not when I just started having them.”

“Hey,” Peter whispered. He threw his backpack down on the chair beside MJ. “Things are looking better.” Peter wrapped his arms around MJ and pulled her into his arms. She wasn’t crying — she had never been a heavy crier. But she slackened in his arms. “I know you’ve heard it a million times, but we’re all here for you. For each other. The whole team.”

MJ let out a dry chuckle. “I know…” She turned to look at the decathlon team, which was already making their way to the corner of the library where MJ and Peter were waiting. Today, everyone stayed on campus. Mr. Harrington brought snacks and the staff at the cafeteria gave the team some of the food from the snack bar.

Ned gave MJ and Peter some fruit snacks and some chips. “Thought you guys might be hungry,” Ned said.

“Thanks dude,” Peter asked as he took the snacks from his friend.

The team settled into their seats. Staring at his friends, Peter could tell how lost they all looked. Lost and confused and sad. Mr. Harrington was right behind them, going to stand behind MJ and Peter. What was Peter supposed to say to them? What would Captain America say to the Avengers if they had suffered a loss and if team morale was low?

To Peter’s relief, Mr. Harrington spoke first. “I’m glad you guys are all okay,” Mr. Harrington said. His voice was shaky. “Betty’s parents contacted me. She’s resting, but she’s conscious.”

“Do you know when Betty will come back to school?” Abraham asked.

Mr. Harrington shook his head. “Whenever she’s ready. Her parents say that the doctors want to keep her at the hospital for a little bit longer just to make sure that she recovers properly. But Betty’s a fighter and she’s motivated to come back to school. Things are looking better for her. Cost doesn’t seem to be as big of a problem anymore, either. A very… _generous_ person has offered to cover their medical bills. The Brants won’t tell us per the request of the donor.” 

“What does that mean for Betty?” Jason asked.

“It just means that there is one less thing that their family and she will have to worry about,” Mr. Harrington explained. “It means that they can worry about making accommodations for Betty when she gets out of the hospital, not whether or not they’re going to be able to make ends meet.” 

Peter felt his eyes fill with tears, making a mental note to thank Tony later.

“We also wanted to talk to you about the team moving forward from this… _incident,”_ Mr. Harrington said, carefully. “Our hearts are with Betty and I want to make it clear that the most important thing for the team to do is recover in whatever way is healthiest for you. I’m sure I’m not the only teacher or faculty member or _person_ today who has told you that they’re here for you. But, seriously, you are more than just my students or my decathlon members. Each of you mean something to me and if you _ever_ need someone to talk to please, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. About anything, too, even if it’s about what color tie you should wear to homecoming. Do you all still have the number to the counselor that the police gave you the other day?”

There were a few responses, all of which sounded like _‘yes’_ or _‘yeah.’_ Mr. Harrington didn’t ask anyone if they were planning on speaking with the counselors, but he emphasized the fact that there was nothing wrong with getting help. The school was also setting up counselors to be available for all students, though the hiring of outside therapists was for the decathlon team. And finally, after talking about all the resources the decathlon members have, Mr. Harrington and MJ only briefly talked about what the year would be like after what happened.

“Obviously Betty won’t be joining us for nationals this semester,” MJ said. Peter could tell how strong she was trying to act, but everyone could see through her façade. “And Mr. Harrington and I are still debating whether or not we should participate in nationals this October.”

_That_ was surprising news, and news that Peter and MJ had never discussed (he thought he was a captain, too). There were always two national competitions held per year: one at the end of September/the beginning of October and one at the end of the year, in April. Ever since Peter’s freshman year, the team has competed in both and normally made top 5 both competitions. The Midtown decathlon team just dropping out of the competition would surprise everyone: the judges, the competing schools, the parents. The team protested almost immediately.

“What?! Why?” Flash protested. “Come on. We kick ass at those competitions all the time!”

“You just faced something traumatic, and I’m not sure a highly-charged, competitive atmosphere is what you all need. We just don’t want to force you guys to do something that you might not be ready to handle,” Mr. Harrington said. 

“Can’t handle?” Ned said with a frown. “Come on. MJ, after everything that happened to you and Peter last year, the team never quit. Betty was fully behind winning and competing for _you two._ We should do the same for her.” 

Peter cleared his throat. “He kind of has a point.”

MJ glanced at Peter and then stared at the rest of the decathlon team. “You guys are all okay with this? Us still competing this semester, even after what happened with Betty.”

“Yeah,” the team echoed. 

“Okay. That’s settled then,” MJ said; she sounded relieved that the team still wanted to compete. “Normal practices can start next week. You know… after things have settled down a little bit. We had plenty of practice last year so I’m sure we’ll be fine.” The team agreed and that was that. There was no arguing from Mr. Harrington and MJ. There was nothing else that needed to be said, other than they would be winning this competition for Betty. “I think that’s all we really needed to talk about today. We’ll be sending out an email to everyone about topics and drills for next week. I don’t expect you guys to start going over the topics but…”

“We will,” Abraham promised, to which the rest of the team agreed.

All the returners were dismissed and, at that point, Peter, MJ, and Mr. Harrington was left with two new members, the perfect amount since one would be replacing Liz and the other would take Betty’s now open spot. Mr. Harrington spent most of that meeting with the new members apologizing about what happened the other day and that this team was practically family. They’d be forming everlasting friendships, forging plenty of great new memories, etc., etc. Even with the shooting, the recruits were pretty excited about the decathlon team. They knew they would be an alternate for their first year, but they didn’t have a problem with that.

When practice was over, Peter turned to MJ. “Do you need a ride to your apartment?”

“No, Shelly wasn’t working today so I got the car,” MJ said. They were standing in the parking lot now, but MJ didn’t walk any farther to her car. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what Mr. Harrington and I have been talking about for the last couple of days. I know you’re a captain, too, but I just I figured you would be worried about… you know” —she lowered her voice—, “ _the shooters_.” Peter’s stomach clenched—this was actually what Peter had been trying to avoid the whole day. “Did you find anything out about them?”

Peter hesitated. He couldn’t stop feeling anxious about the Maggia, the knot of terror in his stomach feeling firmly permanent. He _hated_ lying to her, but Peter just couldn’t bring himself to burden MJ with the magnitude and seriousness of this situation. Not to mention, the more MJ knew about the Maggia, the more danger she would be in. “We have a couple leads.” Peter didn’t say anything else, and MJ respected that. Peter was normally pretty transparent about what he was doing, so when he wasn’t, MJ knew not to continue to pry. “We’re not giving up until we’ve looked into everyone,” he promised.

“I know,” MJ said, quietly. He could see how terrified she looked, and Peter didn’t like that expression on her. He leaned forward to kiss her. “Tony and I are doing everything we can to find out what happened that day and who is responsible for what happened.”

She kissed Peter again. “Good.”

* * *

Come Friday, after sitting through another day of listening to classmates and teachers alike pity him, Peter got a text from Tony. It was short, sweet and to the point: << _Delmar’s tonight. Rendezvous at your place at 9:00pm. >> _Peter let out a sigh of relief. No more waiting.

Like last year, MJ and Peter had their captain’s meeting on Friday. Mr. Harrington joined them today, which was a rarity, to discuss how they would regroup following what happened with Betty and the fact that they had less time to practice. They planned out most of their practices for the month until nationals. It was an important captain’s meeting and there was a lot to discuss, but the entire time, Peter found his mind drifting to tonight. Even as he drove himself and MJ back to his apartment so that they could hang out, Peter was hardly paying attention to what was happening. The route to his apartment and his way around the parking lot were all so familiar that Peter barely needed to pay attention to what he was doing (again, he had to thank the spider-senses for that recklessness). MJ knew why Peter was distracted and she also knew not to bother with asking questions. Instead, she let Peter lie on her head, running her fingers through his hair, as they watched movies together.

Peter knew that tonight wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. Iron-Man was going to be watching Peter from afar, and the Maggia Crime Syndicate had no reason to think that Spider-Man was onto them. _He was the masked vigilante, the protector of Queens. Spider-Man would, of course, swing to see what was happening at Mr. Delmar’s bodega._ Peter kept telling himself that the whole night. Peter snuck out the window of his bedroom and scaled to the rooftop. There was hardly any light on the rooftop, not to mention the landlord (the only people who are supposed to have access to the rooftops) rarely comes up here so Peter knew he and Tony would be safe to rendezvous here. Tony was already waiting and was wearing a new suit, one that was without bullet holes.

“You ready, kid?” Tony Stark asked.

Peter nodded. “Yeah,” Peter said, though his shaky voice gave away his nerves. In case Tony noticed how nervous Peter was, Peter covered up his tracks by hastily asking, “You covered the rest of Betty’s medical bills, didn’t you?”

Tony paused. “It was the least that I could do. Barely cost anything. Your school was very generous. They raised plenty and I figured I could help with the rest.”

Peter didn’t know how to express his gratitude for the man. When Peter asked Tony to donate, he didn’t expect for him to do this. “Tony, I can’t even…”

“I don’t need a ‘thank you’, Peter,” Tony said. “Let’s just focus on tonight, alright. All you have to do is distract Mr. Delmar. Keep him occupied. Let him know that Spider-Man is here to protect him, but make sure that you don’t bring up the Maggia. We don’t need to be fighting any mafia members tonight,” Tony said. “When I’m done setting up the surveillance videos and bugs, I’ll let you know over comms.”

“Comms?” Peter asked. “I don’t have any comms. Don’t I need an earpiece or something? Or are my spider-senses supposed to—”

“Relax, kid,” Tony said. “Just one second.” Tony split the suit apart so that he could step out and hand what looked like a small, tan earpiece to Peter. “I still haven’t figured out how to carry stuff around in this suit very well. Come on. Get your mask off.”

“Oh. Right,” Peter said. On the band around his wrist that contains the nanomachines to the Iron-Spider suit, there was also a small button that allowed for the mask to detract off of his face. Peter took the earpiece and slid it in his ear. “How does this work?”

Tony sighed. “You just push down on the comms — you see that button? — and voilà, I’ll be able to hear everything you say. Just try to avoid using that when you’re around Mr. Delmar. I don’t want you tipping him off that you’re there with someone.”

“I’ll be careful,” Peter promised. “So… are we just going to go? How do you know that Mr. Delmar is going to be there?” Peter asked.

“I’ve been watching his place,” Tony admitted. “Once the police and reporters who are there all day leave for the night, I always see Mr. Delmar sitting in his car across the street just _staring_ at his place.” Peter was glad Tony couldn’t see his face right now, given how sad Peter must have looked upon hearing that. “You ready to go?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s head out.”

Trying to be stealthy while dressed as Iron-Man and Spider-Man, especially with the repulsors and lights on the latest Iron-Man suit, was difficult to the say the least. They stayed on the rooftops, moving with the shadows and avoiding any streets that were busy. Mr. Delmar’s place was only six blocks from Peter’s apartment, though, so it wasn’t like they had to travel far. Not to mention, 21st street was practically deserted after all the bad things that’s happened here. It wasn’t difficult for Tony and Peter to find a secure location on a rooftop across from Mr. Delmar’s bodega where they waited. Considering that it was still a crime scene, all the damage in and outside the store looked the same. The walls were still cracked, bullet holes splayed sporadically across the brick. Police tape was still up. And, sure enough, Peter recognized Mr. Delmar’s car parked out front.

“Zoom in,” Peter whispered. A small box in the corner of Peter’s eyesight, a camera feed, zoomed in on Mr. Delmar’s face. He was crying, his face contorted and twisted in pain. “Oh god…” Mr. Delmar was always so insightful and kind-hearted to Peter and his family. Even after the disaster of what happened last year when Toomes’ blaster destroyed his shop, he was always positive. _Things will get better, kid,_ Mr. Delmar always said. And here he was: crumbling and falling apart.

“FRIDAY, check for thermals. Is there anyone in the store?” Tony asked. There was a pause. “We’re clear, kid. You ready to go in?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. You have all the cameras and stuff?”

“Yeah, and while you’re down there,” —Tony fished out a small spider-bot and stuffed it in Peter’s hand—, “get one of your spider-bots onto Mr. Delmar’s car. I want to be able to track where he goes, too,” Tony said. “Go.”

Peter didn’t spare another second. Tony flew around the back, the lights on his suit going off as he slipped around the back. Meanwhile, Peter got one web on the store across the street and flung himself to the ground gracefully. He landed without making any noise, stood straight up to stare at Mr. Delmar’s car and walked over to it. Peter wasn’t trying to scare the man, especially not when the Maggia might be after him. Instead, Peter (or Spider-Man rather) made sure Mr. Delmar saw him. Before Peter reached the door of the car, Mr. Delmar flipped the headlights on, eyes narrowed. Then, the business owner got out of the car.

“Activate Voice Modifier,” Peter muttered. 

“Spider-Man?” Mr. Delmar gasped.

“Mr. Delmar,” Peter greeted. The Voice Modifier in Peter’s suit made his voice just deep enough that no one would recognize, but not so deep that people could tell it was fake. Plus, every time Peter used it, the new voice was just slightly different than the last one to keep people on their feet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mr. Delmar stuttered. “I’m not trespassing, Mr. Spider-Man. This is my place!”

Peter grinned underneath his mask. “Yeah, I know that, man. Best sandwich in Queens!” The two enjoyed their small bonding moment, but that feeling of warmth was gone quickly. 

“So, shouldn’t you be stopping bad guys or something?” Mr. Delmar asked.

“I can probably take one day off,” Peter said. “Look, I’ll level with you. I’m not Iron-Man. I can’t take down terrorist organizations or build amazing machines and suits. I’m not Captain America. I’ve never had the power to try and take down an entire rogue Nazi organization and succeed no less. And I’m definitely not Thor. I’m not a god. I’m just… I’m just some guy who happens to be able to punch harder than the average dude and who happens to have faster reflexes. I mean, I know I’m capable of more than just punching hard but — okay, it doesn’t matter. All I’m trying to say is that I can’t be expected to protect the entire world, but I can and I should be able to protect Queens. My town. My city. _My home._ The other day, when what happened here happened and I couldn’t catch the guys…” Peter paused to catch his breath. “That’s on me. I failed you.”

“Are you here to apologize?” Mr. Delmar said. He gestured toward the bullet holes on the side of his bodega. “Because I’m not sure an apology is going to fix that.”

Peter shook his head. “You’re right. An apology won’t help you right now. What will help you is finding the people who are responsible for this,” Peter said. “I can do that for you. I can protect you now, even though I didn’t protect you before.”

Mr. Delmar frowned. The fear and grief in his eyes, similar to what Peter saw when he was in the car, was now muddled down with an expression of what Peter assumed was temptation. “How can you help me?”

“By finding the people who did this to you,” Peter said. “I couldn’t get them before, but I’ll do everything in my power now to figure out who did this.”

“I know that you’re not just some average person and I know you have Iron-Man on call, too, but the police haven’t found anything. And, despite that fact that you may be friends with the damn Avengers, how much more can you two do?” Mr. Delmar said. “Their car is a dead end. No one saw their face. None of the security cameras picked up what they were doing. What can you do, Spider-Man? How can you help me when the police can’t?”

“Because I don’t operate under the same rules as the police,” Peter said. “And Iron-Man can hack into anything so, if anyone is going to be able to dig something up, it’s him.” As much as Peter wanted to share with Mr. Delmar that they had a little bit of success digging their way through FBI files, Peter also knew that discussing the Maggia was off limits, so, Peter changed the subject. “I’m not here to talk about Iron-Man, though. I’m here to talk to you.” 

Peter took a step toward Mr. Delmar. It wasn’t like Peter was trying to intimidate the man, but clearly moving closer to Mr. Delmar freaked him out. The older man stumbled backwards, nearly falling. Peter’s reflexes were fast, though. He shot a web at Mr. Delmar, which stuck itself in the center of the man’s shirt. Peter straightened Mr. Delmar, who looked like he was going into shock, up. Mr. Delmar was distracted by the web that was stuck to his chest and Peter seized the opportunity. Peter let go of the spider-bot, which was still secure in Peter’s hand. The spider-bot, as though it was controlled just by Peter’s thoughts, knew exactly where to latch itself: right at the bottom of Mr. Delmar’s car. 

“Um… thanks,” Mr. Delmar said once he had gotten over the awe of being caught by Spider-Man.

“Don’t mention it,” Peter said. “Uh. That’ll just…” Peter let go the web, which hung from Mr. Delmar’s shirt. “That’ll disintegrate eventually. Won’t stain your clothes. I promise.”

“Focus kid,” Tony said over comms.

Peter cleared his throat. “Anyway, do you have any idea why someone would want to do this to you or your business?” Peter asked.

“Why do terrible people do anything?” Mr. Delmar muttered.

“You haven’t pissed anyone off, have you?” Peter asked.

Mr. Delmar shook his head, almost hysteric. “No. No! If you’re from Queens, you know the business I run. I just make people sandwiches. Practically the only time that I ever piss people off is when I run out of turkey for their sandwiches or when I make the wrong order. Honest!” Mr. Delmar said.

“And that never happens,” Peter said, jokingly. His comment earned a small chuckle from Mr. Delmar, but the moment was gone quickly. “Look, I know you don’t actually know who I am under the mask and I don’t intend on changing that tonight, but you have to trust me, Mr. Delmar. I’m here to help. Obviously, there’s someone out there who wants to hurt you — or at the very least scare you pretty badly. I want to make sure this doesn’t happen again, but I can’t protect you if you don’t let me in.” God, this felt like such recycled words. Peter’s heard May and Tony and Dr. Strange say this to him last year; Peter must have said something like this to MJ last year, too. And jhe hated when people said this to him, so he was sure Mr. Delmar hated it just as much. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Mr. Delmar finally said.

Peter scowled. “Come on, man. These people are still out there and they’re dangerous. They shot Be — a girl in high school and they shot your own family member. A lot of people were hurt, too, so they obviously don’t care about collateral damage!” Peter stopped himself. He was getting too upset and he needed to be rational, otherwise Mr. Delmar would probably never talk to him. “I know you’re scared, but this isn’t just about you. People can die. _Innocent_ people. So I’m going to ask you one more time, do you know why someone would want to do this to you?”

Mr. Delmar stayed quiet for a long second. And then—, “I’m all set here,” Tony said. “You’re doing great. Just wrap it up whenever you’re ready.”

“Mr. Delmar— _,”_ Peter urged.

“ _I don’t know!”_ Mr. Delmar exclaimed, so loudly that Peter was worried the people in neighboring businesses and apartments would hear the confrontation. “Honestly, Spider-Man, _I don’t know_ why someone would want to do this to me. I’m a law-abiding citizen. I pay my taxes. I don’t speed. Hell, I even donate to the schools sometimes. You have no idea how hard this is for me to know that there are innocent people who could die because of what happened. I wish I could help you. I really do… but I can’t.”

Clearly Mr. Delmar was pretty upset. The tears were back in his eyes, his hands were visibly shaking. Peter understood enough social cues, so he held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” Peter said. He carefully made his way to Mr. Delmar. Peter guided the man to sit down on the hood of his car. “Alright, I believe you, man. I’m sorry for getting you so worked up. Come on. Take a deep breath. It’s not your fault.”

“I know. I know,” Mr. Delmar gasped. When the older man was calmed down, he finally said, “I suppose I never thanked you for helping with construction last year.”

Peter shrugged. “Well, it was kind of my fault what happened.”

Mr. Delmar shook his head. “It’s never your fault for what happened. You saved me, and you saved my damn cat, too. The people who brought that alien freak gun and tried to rob that ATM is to blame.”

Was it bad for Peter to feel a little relieved that Mr. Delmar didn’t blame Spider-Man for what happened? Peter tried to keep his façade cool. “I’m going to keep an eye out on this place,” he promised. “If these people try to come back again, whatever their reasoning behind doing it is, I’ll make sure that you’re safe.”

Mr. Delmar put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Thank you for what you do for Queens.”

Peter smiled. “Hey, it’s my home, too.” He glanced overhead to see the outline of Iron-Man on the rooftop across the street. “I think it’s time for me to go,” Peter said. “I’ll be around.” And with that, Peter got a web onto the roof and didn’t look back as his soared onto the rooftop where Tony was already waiting. “Everything all set up?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “And you got the spider-bot on his car?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah.”

“Are you alright?” Tony asked. 

Peter thought about lying… but this was Tony. Peter shook his head. “No. Mr. Delmar’s a good guy. My family loves him. I can’t imagine he’d ever do anything wrong or get himself tangled up with the Maggia. And spying on him, following his car just feels wrong. And an invasion of privacy. And I hate it!”

Tony sighed. “I know, kid. We’re doing this protect Mr. Delmar, and I know it’s wrong to be tracking him but it’s the only way to figure out if he’s involved with Maggia without putting his life in immediate danger. One way or the other, you’ll end up compromising your moral compass for the greater good… we can’t all be Captain America.”

Right now wasn’t the right place to start a philosophical argument with Tony so Peter kept quiet. That being said, Peter really didn’t agree with that. You never needed to compromise your moral compass. Maybe that was naïve to think, but Peter was a teenager. He was supposed to be hopelessly optimistic. “I get it,” Peter finally muttered.

“Okay,” Tony said. “And one last thing, Peter.” That really got Peter’s attention because Tony almost _never_ called him by his first name. “You are so much more than just some guy who can punch really hard. You know that, right?”

Peter smiled. He normally wasn’t one to seek out praise, but it felt pretty damn good to hear that from his mentor. “Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Peter said. “What do we do now?”

Tony sighed. “We set up camp back at the compound. Come on.” Tony held out his arms and gestured for Peter to come over to him.

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked with raised eyebrows. “Do you mean I—"

“You’ll run out of trees eventually, kid,” Tony said. “Relax. I’ll get us to the compound in no time. This isn’t the first time I’ve carried you back.”

“I had a concussion then…” Peter grumbled. “You better hope there’s no paparazzi taking pictures of us.” All that comment did was make Tony laugh.

The older man gathered up the teenager in his arms and took off. It was pretty nice, Peter had to admit, being able to just relax in Tony’s arms. Instead of worrying about what tree Peter was going to use to keep himself moving or whether or not he was aiming at the right trajectory, Peter could just enjoy the view. No matter how many times Peter flew over New York, he never got used to seeing sights like Queens this high up. The car lights and streetlamps lit up the streets. And soon, the skyscrapers were gone, replaced with the forests and then the Compound was in sight. The parking lot was empty. The quinjet was in its respective landing zone. It looked peaceful.

Tony landed in front of the living quarters. There were no lights on, so Peter figured that Rhodes and Vision were still in DC and Pepper was either on a business trip or asleep. After they were out of their suits, they hurried up to the fifth floor so that they could set up. Mostly, it was Peter standing to the side watching as Mr. Stark plugged in some wires and typed a few things onto his tablet, which caused the computers and TV screens surrounding them to light up. It showed four different high resolution video streams of Mr. Delmar’s bodega: the breakroom for the employees, which was also partially a storage unit; the main area where customers shop; the back alley where Peter assumed trucks would park to deliver food; the last camera angle was of the front. Beside the video streams, there was a small map with a red dot that was blinking red. Peter figured that the red dot was the tracker on Mr. Delmar’s car; it was still parked outside of his shop.

“Hey, Mr. Stark, do you think we could get arrested for this?” Peter asked as he took in the sights around them.

Tony chuckled. “I doubt the state police are going to want to throw Iron-Man in jail.”

“Did you find any other cameras or bugs?” Peter asked. He couldn’t take his eyes of the red dot just _sitting_ in front of the store.

Tony nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t mess with them. Figured that would tip off the Maggia but I made sure to put _our_ surveillance equipment in all the right places so that they wouldn’t notice. There were bugs everywhere.”

“What do you think he did?” Peter asked.

“Not sure. Probably owes them money,” Tony said. 

Sighing, Peter tried hard not to look at the surveillance videos or the tracker. He felt guilty and awful, like his intestines were twisting up as he tried to comprehend how illegal and invasive this was — _don’t think about it, you’re protecting him, you’re trying to help Mr. Delmar._ Peter didn’t want Tony realizing what he was thinking so Peter covered up his thoughts by asking, “What now? Do we order pizza or something and then just wait out?”

“We wait until something happens,” Tony said. “Look, Peter, I know you want to be involved with this as much as you want but you should focus on school. Do rounds. Take care of the little people. Friday and I will keep track of Mr. Delmar and I’ll keep combing through his personal records — I won’t make you get your hands dirty.”

Tony waited, as though expecting Peter to argue, but Peter stayed quiet. Really, he was relieved. Even with the Maggia Crime Syndicate, there were still other criminals. Not to mention, the less Peter had to spy on Mr. Delmar, the less shitty he would feel about this whole thing. “Sounds good,” Peter said. He glanced at his watch, yawning. It was only 11:00, but it felt like it was three in the morning. “Do you think May would care if I crashed here tonight?”

“When I told May about tonight, I mentioned you might just stay for the night depending on how late it was and how tired you were,” Tony said.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Wait, you _told May_ we were spying on Mr. Delmar?”

“No!” Tony said, laughing. “I told May you and I were going on rounds. Letting her know whenever you were going out there in the suit was part of _our deal!”_

Peter rolled his eyes; last year when May unfortunately found out that Peter was Spider-Man, she made him and Tony promise that she would be informed of what they were doing. When it was big missions, like when Ross recruited Peter to help Tony and Vision take down some crime group, May knew what was happening. But if Peter was just going on boring rounds, why would she really need to know? “Does that mean I need to text her?”

“You sound like it’s a bad thing that she’s concerned about your safety,” Tony chastised.

Peter took his cell phone. “Yeah, yeah. I know. She loves me.”

* * *

Yes, patience was a virtue, but it wasn’t something that Peter was necessarily good at. Waiting to hear any news—and Peter meant _anything_ —about Mr. Delmar and his connection to the Maggia Syndicate felt damn near impossible. Though nothing compared to how it felt waiting to hear about MJ’s safety last year when she disappeared with her dad, this came in a close second. The next few days, every time Peter’s phone vibrated, he desperately and hopelessly checked his messages to see if it was from Tony Stark and each time was rather disappointed when it ended up just being a text from one of his friends or an app on his phone reminding Peter hasn’t gone on it in a while.

With Tony focused on surveilling Mr. Delmar, Peter tried to take these next few days as an opportunity to handle his own trauma. Just when it felt like Peter was really starting to get a handle on things, the world decided to throw him for a loop. The news of the paramedics and Betty getting shot was challenging enough to process. The fact that when Dr. Strange said that he was going to be MIA for a while, which really meant that he would be thoroughly and completely off the grid, also meant that Peter couldn’t contact him for extra support. He tried to use some of the coping strategies they had developed last year. _You’re not alone. Speak with your friends. Reframe your mindset._ Peter tried to do those things, and he had to admit, it was getting easier. If there were ever updates about Betty, he would read the email with MJ by his side and as soon as he came home from school, May would be waiting for him to talk it through. He was processing his experiences. Not bottling them up like he used to.

If he learned anything these past couple of days, it was the fact that he most definitely he _wasn’t_ alone and that fact felt more obvious than ever. Peter had devoted so much of his time that week checking in with his friends to make sure they were processing the shoot-out or to see if they needed additional support and as it turns out, that was a two-way street. Ned was definitely going into overkill, especially given how he much knew about what Peter struggled with last year. He would check in with Peter every other class period. It was a little overwhelming, but Ned meant well. Parents were calling parents. Even Flash’s mom, who was pretty a stranger to all of Flash’s friends (and basically her own son, too), called May to check in on Peter.

MJ was especially perceptive. Even with Peter reassuring everyone that he was fine, she knew better than to believe that. Peter would be lying if he said he still hasn’t completely forgiven Tony for not doing anything to aid the paramedics. But that also made Peter angry at himself because Tony was only trying to protect Peter. Every time Peter tried to process these confusing feelings, he was left with an earsplitting headache.

And MJ noticed. She never directly asked Peter what he was thinking, but she made a point to save the coming Friday night just for the two of them. After their shortened captain’s meeting that day (really, the only thing they needed to discuss was some logistics for their nationals competition in October), they got way too much takeout and drove to Peter’s house with plans to spend the reach of the day watching Netflix. After they ate, MJ settled into Peter’s arms, eyes never leaving the TV. It felt peaceful. And that was wrong, too. How could things be so peaceful when there was so much ugly in the world?

“Are you okay?” MJ asked.

Peter, who had been so transfixed thinking about Tony and the paramedics and that whole situation, blinked a few times as he tried to gather his bearings. The TV was blasting an episode of _Parks and Rec_ way too loudly. “Huh?” Peter said.

Turning the volume down, MJ rotated in Peter’s arms so that she could get a better look in his eyes. “You seem distracted. Is everything alright?”

Peter shrugged. “Yeah. Just thinking,” he muttered. 

Normally, talking with MJ was so easy. But now, it felt like there were so many secrets separating the two of them. Fortunately, Peter was saved by the sound of a ding on his cell phone—and by the sound a vibrate coming from MJ’s phone. He frantically grabbed his phone, eager to see if it was a text message from Tony. It wasn’t. And Peter felt stupid to get his hopes up like that. It was news, though, a mass email from Mr. and Ms. Brant updating the decathlon team as well as anyone else at Midtown or who were friends of Betty’s that were interested on Betty’s condition

“Did you get the email from Betty’s mom?” MJ said, pulling out of Peter’s arms and looking at her phone. Hopefully, she had forgotten what they were just talking. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. 

He opened the email and the two of them read it silently. Betty was, _thankfully,_ doing better. They began their email thread with thanking the anonymous donor for paying off the remaining hospital bills—just reading this made Peter feel utterly grateful and equally shameful for asking ( _begging?)_ Tony to do that. And then they continued with a short update from Betty. She was still resting and still in the hospital, but the Brants were hopeful that in a few days, she would be able to return home. Reiterating what Peter had already learned previously, no vital organs were hit, and the doctors were able to remove the bullet during surgery. She still required extensive blood transfusions, multiple CAT scans and tests, all of which had taken a pretty severe physical toll on her. When she would return to school, any long-term physical injuries and any PTSD/trauma-related concerns had yet to be assessed. But, the Brants didn’t dwell on that. Now that money wasn’t an issue anymore and because there didn’t appear to be any severe internal damage, things were looking hopeful. The email ended with a picture of Betty, looking pale and exhausted, but smiling in her hospital bed, surrounded by flowers and balloons and her smiling parents.

The two of them finished reading at roughly the same time. MJ looked like she was practically in tears. She swallowed hard and looked back at Peter. “That’s good,” she finally said. “Betty’s doing better.”

Peter nodded. He took her hand in his, wishing so hard right now that Peter could share the truth about the Maggia Crime Syndicate and all the information he knew about the shoot-out and the vandal. “Yeah,” Peter finally said. “Hopefully she’ll be back to school soon…” He bit his lip to keep himself from tearing up.

“Peter, it’s not your fault what happened to her,” MJ said. It’s like she could read his mind.

Peter bit his lip. “Why does it feel like it is?”

MJ chuckled, which surprised Peter considering how serious she normally was. MJ leaned forward, her hands grazing Peter’s cheek and softly brushed her lips against. “Because,” she said, pulling away slightly, “you care way too much about the people you love. Listen to me, Peter, if it hadn’t been for you, Betty wouldn’t have made it to the hospital in time. She would have bled out on that street if you hadn’t made the decision to let those men go and save her instead. That’s what heroes do.”

“I know…” Peter said, quietly.

She smiled softly, pulling herself back into Peter’s arms and folding herself up against his chest. She leaned up to kiss the nape of his neck. Just as their attention was about to fall back to the TV, he heard MJ quietly whisper, “I know you know something about the shooters.” Peter felt his breathing hitch. He hadn’t even lasted a whole week of keeping one lousy secret from MJ. “And I know you’re not telling me because you’re either not ready to share it with me or because you’re trying to protect me.”

Peter breathed heavily. “I’m sorry, MJ,” he said, quietly. 

“You don’t need to be,” she said. “It’s okay to keep this a secret.” 

He knew why she was saying that, and he loved her even more than he thought he could. This was just a slight reprieve to the overwhelming feeling of guilt Peter had in the pit of his stomach because he hated, above all things, lying to MJ—or omitting the truth. “Thank you,” he whispered. He leaned down, peppering her forehead with soft kisses. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading this!


	6. Desperate

Chapter Six: Desperate

_“Never underestimate desperate people._

_You never know how far they will go to get what they want.”_

Sunday rolled around so quickly, it felt like the weekend hadn’t even happened, and he was already on his way to pick up MJ to volunteer at Mr. Li’s soup kitchen. It seemed like every volunteer knew about the shooting and made a point to say something to MJ and Peter. They said their apologies, gave Peter and MJ hugs and told them that they would be praying for Betty’s recovery. Even some of the families who were passing through the soup kitchen heard the news and shared their prayers with MJ and Peter. By the time that they were done volunteering, nearly three hours later, it seemed like every other person had said something to the two of them about Betty. 

As Peter and MJ finished loading the dishes, Peter heard footsteps coming from behind them. He turned to see Mr. Li approaching the two of them. “Sorry I missed you both this morning,” Mr. Li said, coming to give MJ a hug and Peter a handshake. “I’m happy to see you again, Peter. How are you two holding up?”

“We’re okay,” MJ said. “Our friend’s parents said that she should recover.”

“That’s good,” Mr. Li said. “If you two or any of your friends need anything—a warm meal, a safe place to do homework—my restaurant doors are _always_ open.”

“Thank you,” Peter said. 

“And speaking of restaurant doors,” MJ added, “I heard you had a ton of meetings with investors today about expanding your restaurants.”

Besides Betty, this was also all the volunteers seemed to talk about. Not only were investors interested in helping Mr. Li open another restaurant outside of Chinatown and possibly in Albany, New York, they also wanted to find out how to expand the soup kitchen. It was clear how much the volunteers here adored Mr. Li by the way that they so eagerly discussed the expansion of his restaurant brand and how excited they were to see all the years of hard work he’s put into his restaurants and soup kitchens come to fruition. _Especially_ Donna. Apparently, Mr. Li has the tendency to have long stretches of absences and she’s been the one to take charge of the soup kitchen for him when he’s gone. 

“Yes, the meetings went very well today,” Mr. Li said, his eyes watering. Today, he was in and out of video meetings hoping to secure these investments. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I’m feeling good about this. Investors will be floating in and out of this place and my restaurant for the next month before they make any decisions… So, no embarrassing me,” he added with a charmed smile.

“We would never dream of it,” MJ said with a kind smile.

* * *

That coming Friday, Peter heard the news he’d been waiting to hear. During English, when he was trying his hardest to stay awake during class (another late night of rounds, not to mention this lecture on the _Great Gatsby_ was particularly dry), he heard the faint _buzz!_ of his phone vibrating. When his English teacher, a rather old woman who wore massive eyeglasses, had her back turned to write something on the board, Peter snuck his phone out of his backpack. It was a text from Tony. _Finally._ << _Found some things you need to see. Meet me at the compound after your decathlon practice. Bring the suit. >>. _Peter had to keep himself from audibly sighing in relief when he received that text message, otherwise his entire English class would know something was up. His mind raced with a thousand different guesses of what Tony needed to show him. 

He was distracted the whole day, and it took absolutely everything in his power to focus during the rest of his classes. Decathlon practice was worse. Today, Peter was supposed to lead the team on teaching short chemistry topics, but he didn’t prepare for it because he was so distracted with knowing that he was going to the compound afterwards that he was stumbling over every other word. When MJ and Mr. Harrington realized that Peter was off his game today, they saved him by ending practice early and assigning a bit of light reading for the team to do before the next practice. Peter left practice feeling absolutely terrible that he had failed to teach a good lesson, especially because their competition was coming up. 

“What’s on your mind, Parker?” MJ asked when it was just her, Ned and Peter left to clean up after practice.

“I’m going to the compound,” Peter explained.

“Oh… to talk about the shooters?” Ned guessed.

Peter nodded. “Sort of. Tony and I may have found some things out, but we’re still working through it.” 

Fortunately, MJ and Ned didn’t ask any further questioned, and they didn’t bring it up again as Peter dropped the two of them off at their houses. The second Ned was out of Peter’s car, Peter was slamming on the gas pedal and speeding off, desperate to get to the compound as soon as possible before he completely lost his mind thinking about what Tony was going to show him. Peter made it to the compound in record time. He threw his Audi in park to find that his mentor was already waiting in the driveway. They exchanged their normal hellos, which consisted of Tony offering practically every snack in the compound for Peter to eat before they hurried up to the conference. Tony looked nervous enough and there was a tremor in his voice.

Whatever Tony had to show Peter must have been serious.

“What did you find out?” Peter asked as he settled into one of the plush, comfy chairs of the massive conference room in the Avengers Compound.

“Watch this,” Tony said, quietly. 

He typed something into his tablet. A holographic video illuminated the center of the conference table. In the corner of the screen was the date, _9/22/2018,_ and the timestamp, _8:24pm._ Peter immediately recognized that the video was taken from Mr. Delmar’s establishment. There was a short pause in the video and then some of the images began to move. Not an object. A person. _Mr. Delmar._ He was behind the register counter and was going through the till. At first, it looked like he was just counting the money like any manager would do at the end of a business day. But then, someone walked into the store. It shouldn’t have felt out of the normal—the bodega would still be open at the time, but something felt wrong with this. The customer, dressed in a baseball cap and a dark brown leather jacket, skimmed the aisles briefly before heading straight to the counter. Even with the grainy video, Peter could tell that Mr. Delmar was nervous. He immediately stiffened and looked as though he was gripping the stack of money in his hand as though his life depended on it. There was no sound, but it looked like Mr. Delmar and this customer were speaking to each other. Then, the customer pulled a green shirt with the words _New York_ on the front out of the folds of his jacket and slid it across the counter. Judging by the movement of their mouths, they spoke again and then Mr. Delmar tossed the shirt in the back of the counter, handed the customer the stack of dollar bills and watched as the customer walked out the door. 

“What does this look like to you?” Tony asked.

Peter frowned. “It looks some tourist wasn’t happy with their corny little _New York_ shirt.”

“You shop there,” Tony said. “How much would you guess that shirt costs?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. It wasn’t like this was the kind of attire Peter would typically wear. “Maybe ten or fifteen dollars?”

Tony didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he clicked on the tablet and yellow square boxed the stack of dollar bills on the holographic screen. A second later, the camera zoomed in to the stack of dollar bills. It zoomed in some more. Focused. And then Peter realized that the money in Mr. Delmar’s hands weren’t one or five dollars. They were twenty-dollar bills. And judging by the stack the customer was holding, Mr. Delmar must have been giving this man at least five hundred dollars, if not much more.

“He’s embezzling from his own company…” Peter whispered. _No._ He’s known Mr. Delmar since he was kid. When Uncle Ben was killed, this man had fed Peter and May so many free meals. He had a heart. He was a good person. “What does this mean?” he choked out.

“We can’t be sure if this connects Mr. Delmar to the Maggia or not, but it definitely confirms our suspicion that there’s something shady going on with him,” Tony said. 

With a few more taps on his tablet, another video popped up. Other than the fact that this video was one week earlier, it was basically _the same_ video. The same time. The same empty store. Mr. Delmar was waiting at the register and gave the customer that approached him a large stack of bills. Another few taps into the tablet, and the same video taken from different camera angles began to play. None of the cameras got a full look of this customer’s face. There were a few partial shots: his pale skin, blonde stubble from his unshaved beard and the corner of his thin, chapped lips. There were no shots of his eyes. Not even his teeth. The videos disappeared and audio began to play in the background. It was Mr. Delmar. Peter recognized his voice, but it was shaky and a lot huskier than it normally sounded. “ _Just an exchange?”_ Mr. Delmar said. “ _Anything wrong with the shirt?”_ The audio stopped and the holographic videos dissolved.

“This guy, whoever he is, is a professional,” Tony said. “Of all the cameras I set up and the security cameras Mr. Delmar has, we didn’t get a single full shot of his face. It was like he _knew_ we were recording them. And there’s no way I can render a mock image from the footage we have. And he didn’t say a word, so no vocal recognition, either. I’m guessing Thursday is their payday, but none of the other footage helps us determine how much Mr. Delmar is paying, who this customer is, or why Mr. Delmar is doing this.”

“Have you tried looking at Delmar’s security cameras?”

“They’re always off every Thursday at around this time,” Tony said. “He must be turning them off while pays this guy off. With no security footage of the Thursday before the shooting, I have no way of knowing if something happened between Mr. Delmar and this guy. Maybe Mr. Delmar didn’t pay enough or refused to pay.”

“Do you think they were trying to kill him?” Peter asked.

Tony shook his head. “When someone owes you money, you can’t collect if they’re dead. You scare them. You harass them. You can go after their family, but you _don’t_ harm them. They likely weren’t trying to kill him with the shooting, and they probably weren’t trying to hurt Betty, either. Just let him that they’re serious about getting their money.”

“What do we do about this?” Peter asked.

“We go back to Mr. Delmar’s place,” Tony said.

For the rest of the afternoon, Tony and Peter devised a plan to confront Mr. Delmar. They had to do this delicately to ensure his safety. Because there were bugs and cameras _everywhere_ in Delmar’s restaurant, the safest place to confront him was in his car. Tony detected a bug in Delmar’s radio, but no cameras, at least. He had the equipment to jam any bugs in the car for a short period of time, though they would have to work fast in case the Maggia would be listening in. That night, Peter, dressed in his Iron-Spider suit, waited in the shadows as he watched Mr. Delmar in his bodega. He was sweeping up the floor, restocking some of the shelves and wiping down the windows. And finally, Mr. Delmar made a grab for his keys. While the man was occupied with locking up his store, Peter snuck into the backseat of Delmar’s car. Yes, it was a little creepy and anti-Spider-Man for him to break into Mr. Delmar’s car, but it was for the man’s safety… At least, that’s what Peter told himself as he hid in the backseat. 

Fortunately for Peter, he didn’t have to wait for too long. Not daring to look out the window in case he gave away his position, Peter relied on his spider-senses, even more heightened given how dead silent the area around him was. He heard footsteps coming his way. A second later and the door to Mr. Delmar’s car swung up. Not realizing that Peter was literally hiding in the back of Mr. Delmar’s car, the owner of the bodega calmly and quickly buckled himself up and put the key in the ignition. Once the engine roared to life, what Peter assumed was country music began to blare on the speakers. Mr. Delmar put the car in reverse, which jolted Peter ever so slightly, and began to drive down the road, humming to the music. 

“Come on, kid. I can only jam the Maggia’s surveillance systems for so long,” Tony warned over comms. “It’s now or never.”

In all honesty, Peter preferred never, but this wasn’t time for hesitation. He cleared his throat. “You lied to me—”

“Oh my god!” Mr. Delmar choked. Perhaps Peter shouldn’t have alarmed the man so severely because Mr. Delmar almost swerved into a fire hydrant. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Peter said. He shot a web at the wheel and steadied it with a swift twist of his wrist. “Try not to crash your car or anything, man.” Mr. Delmar let out a terrified, throaty breath. He turned back to the road and then signaled toward an open parking spot. “No, no, no, no, no,” Peter said. “Look man, unless you want to tip off some very dangerous people, I suggest you keep driving and continue acting like nothing strange is going on.”

“Easy for you to say,” Mr. Delmar muttered. He turned his blinker off, veering back into the road. “What the hell are you doing here? Why is Spider-Man _stalking_ me?”

“I’m not stalking you,” Peter said. _Not exactly the truth._

“Then why are you in my car?” Mr. Delmar said.

“That’s a good point,” Peter muttered. “I’m just trying to do my job to the best of my ability. Now, I’m sorry that I scared you, but you lied to me.”

Mr. Delmar frowned. “What do you mean ‘lie’?”

“I asked you if you had any idea who might want to hurt you,” Peter said. “And you told me no.”

“I honestly don’t know—” Mr. Delmar started.

Peter’s frustration got the better of him. “You don’t know _anything?!”_ Peter repeated, nearly shaking with rage. “You think I’m messing around with you, Delmar? Because I’m not! I don’t know what you’ve got yourself tangled into but if it’s something serious and if it’s something dangerous, you have to tell me. This is about more than just protecting your skin, alright? Someone shot up the street outside your place! A girl almost died!” 

Mr. Delmar stayed frozen. “I…” he trailed off. He gathered himself. “Spider-Man, it’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Peter said. “I like you. I like your business. And, believe it not, I’m not here just to yell at you or scare you. You’re just as much a member of Queens and the community that I’m here to protect as anyone else. But I can’t do my job if I’m not being told the full story.” Peter swallowed hard. Even though Peter was angry with Mr. Delmar for lying to him, Peter couldn’t blame the man. If Delmar really was mixed up in some shady business with a crime syndicate, there was a reason Mr. Delmar wasn’t sharing that information, even with Spider-Man. What if by forcing this information out of Delmar, it winds up getting the man killed? Was this a risk Peter was willing take? And was it a risk that Peter was going to be able to live with? 

“You still there, kid?” came Tony’s voice, concerned and little frustrated.

The sound of Tony’s voice helped bring Peter back to reality. _You’re going to do everything you can to protect this man,_ Peter reminded himself. _You have to do this._ “I know about the Maggia Syndicate,” Peter said, quietly, but it got plenty of a reaction from Mr. Delmar. The man paled and looked like he was going to be sick. “Iron-Man and I have been doing some investigating of our own. And we know you’ve been paying them money.”

It felt like an eternity passed before Mr. Delmar had the courage to say anything. “How did you find out? I’ve been careful. I’ve been watching every step I make… If they find out that you know, they’ll think I told you… They’ll kill me.”

“Mr. Stark and I are going to do everything in our power to make sure that that doesn’t happen,” Peter reassured, although it was hard not hide the terror in Peter’s own voice as he spoke. “But, like I said, I can’t help someone who isn’t telling me the truth. We’ve done our homework and we know about the listening devices in your car. We’re jamming their signals. It’s just us. You can tell me the whole story.”

Mr. Delmar paused. “You don’t know the power these men have.”

“I’m starting to get a good sense of it,” Peter muttered. “What’s going on?” Silence. “If there’s anyone you can trust, it’s me.”

“I know, I know…” Mr. Delmar whispered. “I was desperate,” he finally said. “I needed money. My business is all I have, but it was going under. Maybe I make good sandwiches, but I can’t compete with these chain stores. They’re cheaper, they have more variety, people liked those stores better. I’ve been working overtime to do the jobs that my workers who I had to lay off would normally do. My family helps, but I can’t even pay them, and they don’t deserve to be doing this work for free when they need the money, too. At some point, I’m not going to be able to pay for rent. Or for food… I need this business and this business to start doing better than it’s doing now.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, quietly. It’s meaningless, but what else is he supposed to say? “How long has your business been struggling?”

“We’ve been having problems since…” he stopped himself. For the first time since Mr. Delmar began talking about his business, he made eye contact with Peter. At first, Delmar looked angry, but that emotion disappeared so quickly that Peter questioned if he had even seen it. “Since the ATM attack last year.”

Peter felt like his heart skip a beat. No. _No._ Last year, before Peter even began to struggle with anxiety or nightmares, he was going on rounds in the area when he saw a group of men robbing the ATMs in the bank across from Delmar’s bodega. When Peter confronted them, they attacked him with one of the weapons that Adrian Toomes had supplied them. Not only did it blow up the ATM machines, it also destroyed most of Mr. Delmar’s bodega. Once the Department of Damage Control was finished investigating, it took nearly two months to renovate and rebuild the bodega. In addition to financial support from Tony’s foundation, the community created GoFundMe accounts and fundraisers to help Mr. Delmar get back on his feet. “I-I thought,” Peter stammered. “I thought the Stark Relief Foundation covered all the renovations and paid for all the salaries of the employees who were out of work because of what happened.”

“They did,” Mr. Delmar said. “And we definitely would have gone out of business sooner if the Foundation hadn’t helped the way it did. But, come on, Spider-Man, two months with the same rent and expenses and no actual income? Donations can’t always solve that. Plus, people avoided this place like the plague after what happened. Who would want to frequent a store that’s in a dangerous part of town? I can’t imagine what this shooting is going to do my business now…”

Peter never even thought about that. In fact, he always seemed to have this ideology that when Spider-Man showed up to a neighborhood and took a criminal down there, it was _good_ for the image of the place. You know, because the criminals were gone? Peter felt so stupid thinking that. How many other businesses or neighborhoods or families were suffering? 

“I had no idea…”

“You couldn’t have known. You’re Spider-Man. You have bigger problems to worry about,” Mr. Delmar said. He sounded genuine, but that didn’t change how Peter felt. After a beat, Mr. Delmar continued. “A few months ago, I tried to take a loan out of the bank to rent. I just needed to get by until school started—business is better because all the high school kids sneak over here for lunch. Only, I made a few mistakes when I was younger. My credit score is so bad it felt like the bankers were laughing me out the door as soon as I walked inside. They denied my loan. I didn’t tell my wife. Or my family. I wanted to see if I could figure out a new plan to save my business without letting them now. I should have just told them,” he whispered but, again, it seemed like he was talking to himself rather than Peter. “I was just so damn prideful. I didn’t want them to think of me as a failure…”

Peter understood that. All of last year, he dreaded talking to May or Ned about his anxiety and his nightmares. Quietly, Peter asked, “What did you do after the bank turned down your loan?”

“I think you already know,” Delmar said, his face turning a deep shade of red. “I had a few other business friends who had been on the verge of bankruptcy before and the bank turned their loan down, but they pulled through and their business, somehow, seemed to be doing just fine. I asked around to see what they did—I passed it off as just mere curiosity… I couldn’t bear the shame of them knowing what was happening. Most of them gave me the same lie: ‘we persevered. We kept fighting. We ran into a little bit of luck.’ All lies, and to someone who had been researching the most affordable ‘ _going out of business, everything must go’_ signs, it was infuriating. I thought about promotional sales, prices I could slash, and even contemplated what product suppliers I could swindle into giving me free merchandise. And then…”

He stopped himself; Peter recognized the emotion etched on Delmar’s face— _guilt._ “And then?” Peter prompted.

“And then I received an interesting visit from someone,” Mr. Delmar said, gravely. “I was just minding my own business—I swear I was just visiting my granddaughter and putting money in the parking meter—when someone approached me. I figured they were just someone who frequented my store. But I realized that this person wasn’t just anybody. They knew my business was in the red. They kept saying how much they wanted to help me, that they’ve seen what happens to families when their small business—they’re _only source_ of income—crumbles beneath them. At first, I thought it was a blackmail. They wanted something from me, even though I didn’t have much to offer. And I was angry. I nearly got back in my car to run them over…” He bit his lip hard. “God, I wish I had.”

“Who was this person?” Peter asked. “Do you know their name?”

“He said to call him _X_ and that was all I needed to know,” Delmar said. He bit his lip, his cheeks flushing pink. “I know… I was being stupid. Never trust someone who’s name you don’t even know…”

Peter chuckled. “You don’t know my name.”

“That’s different,” he said, off-handedly. “These people worked for the Maggia,” Delmar finally admitted. “I didn’t realize it at the time, and _had_ I realized it, then I would have just walked away while I still could. This person said their boss could help me… they explained that their boss was an investor who found small businesses that they believed could become an essential component of an empire this businessman was trying to build. They helped save my friends’ businesses, which was apparently how they found out that I needed help, too. Did a little too much prying apparently.” 

“But whoever person was wasn’t just an investor?” Peter said. 

Mr. Delmar shook his head. “No. My contact was the only person I ever spoke to. He explained to me that he would give me a certain amount of cash every week for two months that would be enough to cover my expenses for at least a year. That was over the summer…”

“And now you’re paying them back?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” Mr. Delmar whispered. “I’m expected to pay the entire amount back, plus a 50% interest rate over the next two years. The deal I struck with my contact was for him to return to my store every week on Thursday about thirty minutes before closing and I pay off some of that debt in cash. I take only what I need to keep my business afloat and pay any other expenses, and any other surplus I make goes directly to paying off that loan. Every penny I find on the street I take. Every tip I make from the deli service… it goes to the Maggia Syndicate. I’m surviving, more so than I could without the loan, but just barely.”

“What if you don’t have the money to pay enough?” Peter asked.

Mr. Delmar’s eyes darkened. “My contact made it clear that late payments or being short even a couple dollars won’t be tolerated.”

“Which was why they shot the street up,” Peter concluded.

Mr. Delmar nodded, tears filling his eyes. “I miscounted…” he whispered. “I don’t know what happened. Every single week, I spend hours quadruple checking that I have the correct amount… and I was _$25_ short. And they thought shooting up the street was a good enough warning. Mr. Spider-Man, I swear, I would have never intentionally put anyone in harm’s way…” he stopped again; tears dripped down his cheeks, his fingers trembling. “If that girls dies, that’s on my conscience forever.”

Peter shook his head, earnestly. “She’ll be okay. I’ve been keeping in contact with her family and things are looking optimistic for the girl.” Mr. Delmar didn’t look comforted by that, and Peter understood why. Whether or not Betty survived, that guilt would still live with him.

There was no time for Peter to console the man again. “We got what we need,” Tony finally said. “I can’t keep jamming these bugs, so get out while you still can.”

“I have to leave,” Peter whispere\\.

“What are you going to do with this information?” Mr. Delmar said. “If they’re willing to shoot-up a street in the middle of the day over $25, then I can’t imagine what they’ll do if they realize how much I told you.”

“We’ll do everything we can to make sure that you and your family stay safe,” Peter said. “We’re going to help you.” Mr. Delmar was slowing down for a red light, and Peter seized the opportunity. Without saying another word to the man, Peter yanked the door open and webbed himself up to a rooftop across the street. The sound of repulsors whirring indicated to Peter that Tony was close behind. There was a clink of metal and Tony landed beside Peter. “It’s my fault,” Peter finally said.

“No,” Tony said. “It’s not your fault. You had no idea what the impacts of that fight last year would have on this business.”

“Ignorance isn’t an excuse,” Peter muttered, feeling suddenly light-heated under his suit. The early signs of a panic attack were starting to develop. _No,_ he chastised. This isn’t the time. “What do we do now?” he asked, eager to redirect his emotions.

“I’m thinking next Thursday we pay Delmar a little visit while his contact is there collecting money.”

* * *

A week later, Peter was bursting with worry. Peter and Tony weren’t planning on ambushing the contact, especially since they wanted to avoid any possibility of bringing harm to Mr. Delmar, his family or any potential civilians roaming the streets that night. Rather than confronting the contact, Peter and Tony were hoping for a picture of his face and, if everything goes smoothing, a location of where the contact brings the money after taking it from Delmar. It wouldn’t be much—Peter was starting to learn going after something as powerful and as secretive as the Maggia wasn’t going to happen quickly—but it was more than what Tony and Peter had now. 

It was 8:30 now. _Showtime._ Peter was perched in the shadows of the rooftop across the street, and Tony was out of sight, monitoring the situation with the various cameras and bugs he set up in the bodega. Most of the shops were closing soon and considering how normally bustling this street typically is, it was pretty empty. There weren’t many cars parked in the streets and, while there were still plenty of people driving up the street or hurriedly running errands, many of them were quickly moving about, earnest to finish whatever they were in the middle of doing. Mr. Delmar, like he said he would be, was scrounging around his bodega nervously. He was sweeping up, getting ready for closing, and was anxiously glancing at the door every few seconds.

And then, a customer came into view, dressed in all black and wearing a baseball cap, head tipped down so that Peter couldn’t get a clear look at his face. Peter assumed it had to be the contact from the Maggia because as soon as this person walked inside, Mr. Delmar went straight to the cash register, not even greeting the customer. The man, _X,_ as Mr. Delmar called him, was a lot larger than the security cameras had given him credit for. The man never lingered in one spot for too long and never touched anything in the store, just perusing, disinterestedly. Just as Peter had seen in all the videos he and Tony watched, the man pulled out a tattered shirt and exchanged it for a wad of cash up at the register. Mr. Delmar and the contact didn’t say anything to each other, which Peter could confirm because he was absolutely straining his ears to hear any trace of conversation. _Nothing._

The contact leaving the bodega was Peter’s signal to start moving. Tracking someone stealthily was _never_ Spider-Man’s thing so Peter felt incredibly out of his element as he moved lightly on his feet across the rooftops to stay on the contact’s tail. Tony said that it was best to stay on the roof and avoid swinging from building to building as much as possible because that would draw too much attention. Light footsteps. Avoid jumping. Stay at least fifteen feet away from the person you’re tailing, although that didn’t seem to apply to this situation considering that the contact was on the ground and Peter was up on the rooftop. Now, they were a few blocks away from Mr. Delmar’s. The streetlights were becoming dimmer and dimmer, and the streets were looking more deserted by the minute. Finally, the contact stopped to get into a car, a gray sedan that looked practically invisible in the darkness of the night.

“Mr. Stark, he’s getting in a car,” Peter muttered, realizing that he was going to run out of rooftop soon and he wasn’t sure how well he was going to be able to follow the car if the driver goes on a freeway. The lights to the sedan flicked on, the ignition sounding like it was roaring against the silence of the deserted street. 

“I’m close by. Just keep tabs on him while you still can,” Tony said.

The car started to reverse and, fortunately for Peter, turned around to start driving back toward the bodega. Clearly this _X_ didn’t respect speed limits because he raced down the streets, haphazardly flying around turns and just barely slowing for stop signs. Peter was scrambling to keep up with the driver. He felt like every step he was taking against the rooftop was so loud it was echoing throughout the neighborhood. Realizing that running was both too loud as well as too _slow,_ Peter resorted to webbing himself from building to building. The contact swerved around, making a beeline for the freeway entrance. Honestly, Peter was amazed that this person hadn’t even been pulled over by a police officer for reckless driving yet.

“Tony, where are you?” Peter yelled in his comm. “I’m gonna lose— _holy shit!_ What is that?!”

There was a flash of something bright that careened into the car the contact was driving. Not something. It was a sword. A _very_ large sword _._ And it was bright white, glowing even. The tires popped and the tire rims hit the asphalt with a terrible squealing noise. The car came to a skidding halt, colliding into a stop sign with a terrible bang. Headlights faded, the metal from the bumper flew across the sidewalk.

Someone, a man, came from the shadows to grab the sword that had clattered to the ground. Peter had never seen anyone like this before. The man’s eyes, hair, eyebrows, suit and tie were blindingly, stark white, nearly translucent looking. The shirt underneath was dark black like charcoal. And his skin was completely black, but the shadows from his nose and creases around his lips were streaked with bright white. He looked like a photographic negative Peter learned about during art class. Whoever this person was… _whatever_ this person was, they didn’t look human.

At first, Peter was alarmed and disoriented that he stupidly stood on that rooftop watching as this person dressed in all white, this _non-human_ looking person, sauntered to the crashed sedan, brandishing their swords menacingly. The man grabbed hold of the door and yanked it so hard that it came straight off its hinges. The door went flying, clattering into one of the windows of the establishments across the street. Glass shattered in an earsplitting explosion.

Snapping out of his trance— _Peter couldn’t let the Maggia member die it was the only lead—_ Peter leapt off the rooftop, landing directly between the sedan and the man with the swords. Out of the corner of Peter’s eyes, he could tell that the Maggia contact was unconscious, head pressed against the wheel. “Karen, vitals?”

“He’s alive,” came his faithful AI.

Sighing with relief, Peter turned back to this new person, who looked upon Peter, thoroughly irritated. The man looked a lot more frightening up close than he had when Peter was on the rooftop. It was nearly impossible to get a good look at the guy’s face, considering how blacked out his features were, but as the man’s lips shifted into a nasty sneer, his features became more illuminated. His eyes were absolutely glowing, narrowed into a glare. “I don’t know who you are,” Peter began, deciding that saying the word _‘what’_ rather than _‘who’_ would just make this person angrier, “but—”

“Mr. Negative,” the man spit out. His voice was callous and deep. “Call me Mr. Negative.” It was a suiting name, considering the man’s appearance. “And I have no qualms with Spider-Man. Now step aside.”

“I don’t know what it is with criminals nowadays, but saying ‘ _step aside, Spider-Man’_ doesn’t actually work,” Peter muttered. “So, what exactly happened to you, Mr. Glowy? What made your skin look like this?”

“Mr. Negative,” the man snarled. Clearly, Peter had a hit a nerve.

“Sorry. Not great with names.” Mr. Negative seemed distracted, and Peter seized the opportunity. Peter’s hands moved fast, shooting a web at the car door that was now leaning against the windowless business and yanked it toward Mr. Negative’s back. Ideally, the blow would be so unexpected and forceful it would render Peter’s new enemy unconscious. Only, it hardly fazed Mr. Negative, who stood there, rather annoyed as the car door dropped down behind him; there was a dent where the door hit Mr. Negative in the back. “Okay,” Peter whispered, “That typically works… Tony, I could really use Iron-Man right about— _whoa!”_

Having not been in a serious fight as of recently, Peter had forgotten how reactive his spider-senses were. Once standing directly in front of Mr. Negative, Peter watched his feet bolt to the side just as Mr. Negative was about to punch Peter square in the nose. Instead, Mr. Negative’s fist hit the car with a deafening _CRACK_ , leaving a huge looking dent in the side of the Sedan. Peter gulped. So, this Mr. Negative could evidently glow in the dark _and_ had superhuman strength. Peter only managed to duck as Mr. Negative slashed his sword right where Peter’s head used to be. 

Mr. Negative was fast. Faster than Peter had expected as he expertly slashed and attacked Peter. But the spider-senses didn’t let Peter down. Peter sidestepped each jab of the sword and when he felt himself getting pinned against a wall of a building, he jumped completely over Mr. Negative. With the man’s back turned, Peter landed a kick to the center of the man’s spine. He clattered against the wall. For good measure, Peter shot a grenade web at the man, ensnaring him in white, thick webbing. A little web wouldn’t hold Mr. Negative, Peter assumed, which meant he had to work fast.

Peter scrambled to the Maggia contact, who was just stirring awake. Though this Mr. Negative clearly put a damper in trying to tail the contact, this was still a prime opportunity to gather some intel. Peter scanned the car for anything innocuous he could take. He looked at the keys in the ignition, on it several bottle openers and even what looked like a swiss knife. Just as the contact seemed to be coming to, Peter snatched one of the bottle openers and it came clean off the metal spiral it was hooked onto. It wasn’t much, but there could be a fingerprint on it. 

“Hey man,” Peter said. “Are you alright? I saw you hit the stop sign—”

The man jerked, turning to Peter wildly, eyes full of terror. His face was flushed bright red, brown shaggy hair flailing wildly as he tried to get a sense of what was happening. He had a hooked, croaked nose, though Peter had no idea if this was how he normally looked if or the man had broken his nose in the accident. There was a nasty looking cut in his upper forehead, and his bottom lip was bleeding. As though it were a knee-jerk reaction, the Maggia contact grabbed for something in a cupholder; the spider-senses immediately told Peter that that something was likely a gun or a weapon of some form. Tempted to knock him out, Peter had to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to know this man was Maggia.

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” Peter said. “Are you okay? That guy just attacked you!”

The contact faltered. He gathered his bearings, nervously taking in Spider-Man’s appearance. “Oh. _Oh!”_ he groaned, grabbing for his head. “God, what happened? I need to get home—”

The man made a scramble to start the car again. “Whoa,” Peter said, pushing the man’s hands away from the keys. “What you need is to get to the hospital.” 

“No, I have to—”

The man couldn’t finish. Mr. Negative, who had untangled himself from Peter’s web a lot faster than Peter had anticipated, was charging after Peter again. Another flash of the sword, and Peter’s instincts compelled him to push the Maggia contact as far back in his chair as possible. The sword collided against the wheel with a thud, instantly splitting open at the sharp blade. Peter kicked Mr. Negative in the chest. The blow was strong enough to send Mr. Negative crumbling into a brick wall across the street.

“Mr. Stark, pardon my language, but _where_ _the hell are you?!”_ Peter exclaimed. He grabbed the hilt of the sword that was stuck in the wheel. With a grunt, Peter managed to pull it free and webbed it against the side of the building high enough that Mr. Negative would have to scale the walls to grab it. 

“Kid, I’m coming!” came Mr. Stark’s frantic voice over comms. “Whoever this new guy is, he didn’t seem to care much for traffic laws. There’s a couple accidents and some civilians are pretty badly injured. Just wait. I’ll be there soon!”

Mr. Negative was starting to get back up again—Peter didn’t have time to keep talking to Stark. “Take care of the civilians. I’ve got this one!” Peter turned back to Mr. Negative, feeling a sudden surge of determination. Mr. Negative charged for a third time, only this time Peter was ready. Armed with only his fists, Mr. Negative swung at Peter frantically. Peter grabbed hold of Mr. Negative and slammed him into the side of the car. They went at each other like this for a while. Peter would strike and Mr. Negative would parry his moves. Then, Mr. Negative would fight back, and Peter would just barely manage to avoid getting hit. It was an endless stream of strikes and counterstrikes, kicks and punches, sidesteps and blocks. Peter wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up—

The base of Peter’s head erupted in a fiery, sharp tingle of electricity. In a flash, Peter was sprawled on the ground; beside him, Mr. Negative too was doubled over. Behind them, the walls of the buildings were marred with fresh bullet holes. Peter turned back to the sedan, angrily. The Maggia contact was clutching a handgun. Peter moved fast: he disarmed the syndicate member with a sharp yank of a web. “Seriously?! I’m trying to save your ass, and this is how you repay me?” The Maggia contact was hardly listening, though. He was scrambling for the car keys, impatiently turning them in the ignition. The contact had another gun hidden, this time a semiautomatic. Bullets flew at random. Glass shattering and bullets ricocheting off metal triggered Peter’s spider-senses so violently, he felt like his head was going to explode. 

Peter grabbed for the only coverage he could find in the deserted street: the car door from the Sedan that had been ripped off in the fight earlier. He curled up in a ball behind it, his arm gripping on the door so tightly, it felt like his fingers were going to break from the grasp. _CRACK, CRACK, CRACK!_ came the bullets as they collided with door. With Peter hiding behind the car door dumbly, the Maggia contact escaped. He reversed away from the stop sign, the front bumper falling off in the process, and bolted away; Peter made sure to get a good look at the car so that at least Karen could have pictures of the licenses plate.

With the car out of sight, Peter threw the door to the ground. Mr. Negative was clearly hurt (did he get shot or was it from fighting Peter?), all doubled over and letting out heavy, jagged breaths. “Who the hell are you?” Peter said. He wasn’t great at interrogating, but now Peter felt so mad, he thought he could intimidate Mr. Negative without a problem. “Why were you after that man?” Mr. Negative didn’t answer—his eyes were fixed on something behind the two of them. Tony, perhaps? 

_No, not Tony_. The spider-senses were starting to go off again. The fight wasn’t over. Peter spun around just in time to see at least four cars circling Peter and Mr. Negative from both sides. Car doors were violently thrown open. Then, something that sounded an awful lot like a grenade (only, it couldn’t have been—Peter was still perfectly alive) went off. Just for a moment, high-pitched ringing filled Peter’s ears and his eyes flushed with bright light, as though someone had shone a very powerful flashlight directly into Peter’s eyes. He moaned, falling to his knees. As Peter came to, he realized he was surrounded by men dressed in full body gear and armed with guns, pointing directly at Peter; in the chaos of it all, Mr. Negative must have slipped away because it was just Peter in the center of all these men. He counted at least twenty. If not more. 

This would be a _great_ time for Tony to show up.

“Spider-Man,” said one of the men. A group of five walked closer to Peter. Besides the guns that they were all holding, Peter counted at least two more sidearms, a stun gun and a knife on each of them; he was severely outnumbered and outgunned. He wasn’t sure who these people were— _Maggia members? More of this Mr. Negative’s comrades?_ —and he couldn’t risk getting captured by any of them. “You’re under—”

Peter wasn’t sure if his normal fighting tactics were going to suffice against these many men, not to mention he was still reeling from what Peter could only assume was a stun grenade. “Splitter web,” Peter muttered under his breath. He rarely used anything besides the regular webs, but when there were this many enemies at hand, he had to get creative. Peter clicked the button in his web-shooters twice and globs of synthetic webbing split in all directions. Men in every direction stumbled to the floor as they were entangled in a mess of white. There was no time to waste, as all the men dressed in black were now charging after Peter. He moved quick, switching to advanced combat mode and activating the stun web. A splay of what looked like electric projectiles shot toward Peter in a high arc. He rolled to the side; in the same motion, he shot off his own stun webs, taking down another set of men. 

Peter cried out in anguish as he felt a terrible burning sensation in his shoulder. His legs gave out from under him, as though Peter had no control over any of his limbs. He landed with a thud on the ground. Pain erupted from the lower part of his back as he felt another object jab him. All feeling of control left Peter’s body as he found himself sprawled across the ground, convulsing. Someone was on top of him now, yanking his hands and thrusting them behind his back. What felt like steely cuffs were latched onto Peter’s wrists. “Spider-Man,” this man said, pulling Peter off the ground. “You’re under arrest for violating the Sokovia Accords!”


	7. Cooperate

_“Coming together is a beginning;_

_keeping together is progress;_

_working together is success“_

~ Henry Ford ~

Chapter Seven: Cooperate

As disoriented as Peter was, hearing the words ‘ _arrested’_ and ‘ _violating Sokovia Accords’_ was enough to get his attention. “What?!” Peter screamed. Two men were now yanking him to one of the black SUVs. “I haven’t done anything! Get off—”

Something metallic latched itself onto the arms of one of the men holding Peter. “What the—” they exclaimed, but never had the chance to finish their sentence. Whatever that metallic band was glowed and yanked them to the side of the SUV, where they stayed stuck. Men around Peter frantically grabbed the gun, but when they heard the sound of repulsors, they froze where they stood. _About damn time,_ Peter thought to himself. He heard a loud thud behind him. Moving slowly, Peter craned his neck to see Tony Stark in his Iron-Man suit behind him. 

Tony had his repulsor rays at the ready, but he didn’t look interested in a fight. In fact, Tony retracted the helmet, revealing a sarcastic, gloating smile on his face. “Spider-Man, why don’t you come over here?” Peter followed his instructions, stumbling awkwardly to get to his feet and scrambling to get away from the men in black. “You alright? Can you get out of those yourself?” Tony gestured toward the cuffs.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I got it. I got it.” Clearly, these men had no idea who they were dealing with because with a swift yank of his wrists, the handcuffs broke apart. “Uh, Mr. Stark, what’s going on?” Peter whispered.

“What’s going on—” came another voice. There was a little bit of shifting around and some of the men holding guns parted ways to reveal who was speaking, “is that you two interrupted a CIA/FBI/World Security Council sting operation and there’ll be hell to pay for that.” Peter had to keep himself from audibly groaning. Standing in front of him and Tony was Everett Ross, a CIA agent who had run point on the task going after Bucky Barnes in Germany after the UN bombing and during the Avengers civil war. Peter only spoke with him a couple of times when they were planning out the attack in the German airport, and when they were working together on taking down the Secret Empire last year. Ross wasn’t fully strapped down with weapons like the men around him, who Peter now suspected were CIA or FBI agents, but Peter immediately detected the stun gun and the handgun in their proper holsters. His eyes were bright red with huge bags underneath, and he had a nasty scowl on his face, _almost_ as nasty and angry as how he looked when he realized that Captain America and Bucky had escaped last year at the airport.

“Mr. Ross,” Tony said, with feigned politeness. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Ross didn’t exchange any pleasantries, especially considering how sarcastic Tony was being. “We were in the middle of a sting operation when Spider-Man over here disrupted the whole thing and our guy got away. This is Accords business—we were ordered here by the World Security Council. As far as I’m concerned, _you two_ were not asked to be a part of this mission. Therefore, by engaging in a fight with the man we’re looking for, you violated the Accords.” Hearing Ross say that made Peter feel suddenly weak-kneed and nauseous (though part of that reaction may still be because of the lingering effects of getting zapped with tasers by the CIA agents). 

“Let’s all just take a second to think about what you’re implying,” Tony said. He remained calm, but Peter could tell there was an edge to his voice as he, too, realized the magnitude of what was Ross was saying. “How terrible will publicity be when New York” —with a wave of his hands, Tony indicated to the helicopters that Peter now realized were circling the scene below. They must have just arrived because the spotlight turned on almost immediately afterwards; the light illuminated the anger and stress and weariness etched across Ross’s face— “finds out that you’re arresting Spider-Man after a new bad guy just happened to show up. If this doesn’t end with the state of New York calling for your resignation, it will end with riots calling for Spider-Man _and_ Iron-Man’s freedom.” Tony gestured to the guns, still pointed at the two of them. “Secretary Ross may be blood hungry for the Steve Rogers, but he’s not stupid. Now, put the guns down before someone else—specifically you or your men—gets hurt.”

Everett Ross absolutely glared at Tony, but his tense expression slackened. “Stand down,” he whispered. His men followed the order immediately; all the barrels once directed at Peter were now pointed to the ground. Even though Peter and Tony may momentarily be safe from danger, Peter didn’t relax, not until he heard Agent Ross verbally say that no arrests would be made.

“Wise decision,” Tony said, patronizingly. “Now, why don’t we take this off the streets? Go somewhere private and then we can hash out what’s going on? I’ve got a nice place upstate. Something called the _Avengers’ Compound._ You interested?”

More helicopters were circling above from what seemed like every news station available in the entire state of New York. Which meant more cameras. Which meant that publicity afterwards would be a bigger nightmare than it already is. Everett Ross, though just an agent for the CIA, knew what kind of scandal this would be and, frankly, with Thaddeus Ross so dedicated to hunting down the other Avengers, bad press was the last thing the World Security Council or the CIA needed. Everett Ross recognized that. With great reluctance, he agreed to pack up the remaining agents and follow Iron-Man and Spider-Man to the compound. 

The two Avengers flew overhead (Tony carrying Peter the whole way) while the line of cars containing the agents followed below. Peter and Tony didn’t dare speak to each other about what had just transpired, especially not with the media following closely behind. With talking out of the question, Peter was stuck listening to his own thoughts. If Peter _did_ end up getting arrested, he wasn’t sure how much pull Tony had on the situation. Not to mention, who the hell was the guy that just showed up? Mr. Negative? And much did the CIA know about the Maggia contact?

The compound was in sight. Like they had when Peter got a concussion all those weeks ago, they landed on the rooftop. Lights all over the compound lit up for the SUVs that parked themselves on the gravel below. “FRIDAY, let the men in through the front door,” Tony said as they hurried down to the conference room. Unlike all the other previous times they had been there this year, the conference room wasn’t alone. Vision, this bizarre looking android (robot?) with red and gray skin and the beautiful Infinity Stone in the center of his forehead, was sitting at the conference table. He had a thick-looking document in front of him and was flipping through the pages with fervency; Peter caught a glimpse of the name written on the front: _the Sokovia Accords._ Tony turned to Peter. “Sit down. Keep the mask and use voice modifier.”

Peter nodded. He turned on the gadget from his suit that would mask his real voice, turning into this deep, robotic one. It was supposed to be for interrogations to make him sound intimidating, but Peter pretty much only used it to preserve his secret identity. “Mr. Stark,” Peter said, feeling incredibly grateful that the modifier could mask how scared he was, “am I going to get arrested?”

“Of course not, kid. Everett Ross is just looking for someone to take his anger out on, and you were the closest thing.” Only, Tony didn’t sound at the relaxed. “They’re not laying a finger on you and if they try, they’re going to have to get through the rest of us—”

“Boss, you have incoming,” FRIDAY interrupted.

At the moment, the door popped open. Everett Ross, now out of his sting-operation attire and dressed in his CIA gray suit and tie, bustled inside. Close behind him were three agents, still clutching guns as though they thought Vision, Spider-Man and Iron-Man would willingly attack Ross in the middle of an already tense CIA/World Security Council vs. Avengers time. They made themselves comfortable: computers were yanked out of bags, chairs pulled out from underneath the conference table as agents plopped onto them, thoroughly exhausted. Everett Ross stood at the front. His brows were furrowed, hands clasped together.

“You gonna say something or are you just going to keep fuming in place?” Tony said.

“I just got off the phone with Thaddeus Ross—”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t on the phone to wish me a happy engagement?” Tony asked sarcastically.

Ross scowled. “Didn’t come up. He’s interested in knowing why Spider-Man and Iron-Man decided to butt in on an Accords operation?”

“Communication was never good ol’ Thaddeuss’s strong suit, was it? We didn’t know it was an Accords mission,” Tony said.

“Ignorance won’t keep us from arresting you,” Ross challenge.

To that, Tony just chuckled. “If you’re here to arrest us, I’d _love_ to see you and your three little security guards try.”

Vision interrupted Tony, who looked so angry Peter suspected he was going to pop a blood vessel. “To further what Mr. Stark is trying to say, the language of the Accords does not support either Mr. Stark or Spider-Man’s arrest.” He flipped through the pages and settled onto a paragraph that had been circled. “As Article 4 states, ‘ _All active Avengers will be strictly held to the rules and regulations of the Accords once the World Security Council and the UN votes that a particular threat falls under the jurisdiction of the Accords.’_ If you continue reading, Subsection 3 of Article 4 delineates the Council and the UN must be transparent with us. ‘ _The Accords Committee will publicly announce any official meetings at least 24 prior to the meeting taking place. In addition, the Committee will have 24 hours following the commencement of a committee meeting to declare an official declaration of an Accords-level threat.’_ Perhaps the Committee forgot that particular clause of the Accords? As I am aware, many of the council members are plenty busy with the manhunt for Captain Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson and Wanda Maximoff. Maybe you should—”

“If I wanted someone to regurgitate Accords subsections, I would have my assistant do that,” Everett Ross snapped. “And last time I checked, those four _are_ criminals.”

“In whose eyes?” Tony asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ross said, sarcastically, grabbing hold of the Accords in Vision hands and flipping to the first last page. “Let’s see: Tony Stark, James Rhodes, the Vision, King T’Challa, Spider-Man—alias or not—, _137_ other countries and even world criminal herself Natasha Romanoff. _That’s_ who signed and agreed that anyone who violates the Accords, which happens to be your previous Captain America, is a criminal. Speaking of Rhodes, you wouldn’t happen to know where your friend is? Thaddeus Ross is a concerned his relationship with the former Avengers is muddling his judgement on the Accords.”

“Well, I’m not Rhodey’s babysitter, am I?” Tony spat back. “And speaking of ‘muddling his judgement,’ I’m curious about your viewpoint on King T’Challa. I believe there are rumors he’s currently housing James Barnes in Wakanda. Care to explain why the World Security Council hasn’t decided to take a trip to Wakanda yet?” Tony challenged. 

Peter knew that was one way to get the attention of Everett Ross, especially after the stories of what happened a few months ago came to light. At the end of last year, King T’Challa called a press conference and revealed that Wakanda, once believed to be one of the poorest in the countries, was actually a thriving country with scientific advancements well ahead of some of the most developed countries in the world. As far as Peter knew, they aren’t interested in nor have they considered even having conversations about selling their most precious resource, _vibranium._ Doesn’t matter, though. The technology and research King T’Challa and his sister, Shuri, shared with the world saved hundreds if not thousands of lives already. World leaders were angry that Wakanda had yet to share their knowledge with the world, but there were arguments for and against opening Wakanda’s borders. T’Challa was very levelheaded and managed much of the political uproar that followed himself—and quite competently, too. Many countries were angry with T’Challa for keeping the prosperity and knowledge Wakanda had a secret—how silly is that though, considering T’Challa had only been king a couple months before completing revamping Wakanda’s world image—and some even libelously and recklessly tossed around the words _global treason._ And one of the most heard advocates on behalf of T’Challa happened to be Everett Ross. Rumors about why Ross was so bent on protecting T’Challa circulated plenty, ranging from the understandable (T’Challa saved Ross’s life) to the in between (Ross was secretly married to someone from Wakanda) to the absolutely ludicrous (Ross was secretly T’Challa’s stepbrother—yes _, that_ insane).

Ross’s eyes narrowed even more than they already were, and his face went bright red. “Accords aside, the political mess we would entangle ourselves in if we try to apprehend the king of a sovereign nation, a king who willingly opened borders and provided research and tools that saved so many lives already, would be political and career suicide. Even Thaddeus Ross knows his place.”

“And you don’t think there’ll be a political mess arresting Captain America?” Tony said.

“Where were these objections the day you all decided to sign the Accords?” Ross said. Silence. “As I said before, we’re not here to discuss the Accords, nor are we here to arrest Spider-Man.”

“So, was your little tantrum before just for fun?” Tony mumbled.

Ross didn’t fall for Tony’s remarks. “Orders change.”

Peter, who was caught between sighing in relief and feeling tempted to tell Tony to stop pushing his luck, cleared his throat to cover up any reactions and asked. “Why are you here?” Peter asked. The comment earned a frustrated glance from Tony, who clearly expected Peter to stay silent for the entire conversation. 

Ross held Peter’s gaze for a long moment, as though the man could see straight through Peter’s mask. Then, Ross let out a heavy sigh and leaned his hands against the conference table. “We need to know what you were doing tonight and why were you there. We need whatever information you have.”

“Why should we help you?” Tony asked.

“Because if you don’t tell me the information I need now, I’ll go the World Security Council, have them declare this an Accords-level threat and then force your cooperation out of you,” Ross said, evenly. He glanced at Peter. “And if you refuse to help us then, we’ll just throw you and your little pal, _Spider-Man_ , in the Raft for a few days. See if that clears your head up.”

Tony stood up. “Are you threatening me? In my _own_ home?”

Ross shook his head, a smile appearing. “No. Of course not. I’m simply _guessing_ what I suspect Thaddeus Ross would say when he finds out you’re not cooperating. Look, despite our _differences_ in the past, I recognize what problems the Accords have caused. To be frank, I’m not sure Secretary Ross is playing his cards right. While he has the World Security Council so twisted up in this narrative that Steve Rogers is the number one cause of the world’s problem right now, it provides opportunities for real criminals— _the nastiest scum I’ve seen_ —to inflict serious harm without anyone there to stop them. It was hard enough for me to get a team for this operation.”

“What proposal do you suggest, Agent Ross?” Vision asked.

“We work together,” Ross said, which earned an obnoxious from Tony. Choosing to ignore Tony’s outburst, Ross continued on. “I hate to break it to you, but this three-member Avengers team isn’t nearly as powerful as it used to be now that plenty of your former members are criminal. And you saw the damage our target did out there. Hell, he even gave Spider-Man a run for his money. You need us and frankly… we need you.” Saying that out loud looked like it physically hurt Ross. “We cooperate. We pool our resources. We share our information. You assist us on our intel gathering and we’ll assist you on any future missions. Maybe this isn’t your ideal situation, but it means less work for you and with me on your side, it’ll make it much less likely for the Accords to poise any problem for you three. Not to mention it means less headaches for us.”

Tony and Vision shared a meaningful look. Considering where this night started out when the CIA agents first showed, this definitely was an unexpected turn. Part of Peter still suspected this could be a trap, especially given how gung-ho Ross was about arresting Spider-Man. But, it didn’t seem like the _worst_ idea out there.

“And when you say ‘ _work together’_ ” —Tony put those words in air quotes and that surely wasn’t helping their cause right now— “you mean, you’ll be following my lead?”

Ross frowned. “We can talk about the nuances later. Are you in?”

Tony looked at Peter, meaningfully. “Spider-Man’s identity stays a secret.”

“Of course,” Ross said, though he didn’t look happy with that.

“And if things turn ugly—if the Accords get involved and if Thaddeus Ross goes after us—Spider-Man walks free,” Tony said, again, which earned another look of apprehension from Ross. “Vision and I can handle ourselves in that prison and with Secretary Ross. But, you, _it’s your responsibility,_ to make sure that nothing happens to Spider-Man.”

“Fine,” Everett Ross said, extending his hand. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to Spider-Man.” The two shook their hands. Ross turned to look at Peter. “What exactly is so special about this guy that makes you so protective him?”

Tony frowned. “No questions about his identity. Thought I made that clear.”

Ross just chuckled. “Whatever. Guess I owe you an apology for trying to arrest you earlier. No hard feelings?”

“None at all,” Peter muttered, though he wasn’t being completely truthful. How could he so easily forget after just being handcuffed and attacked with tasers by the CIA?

Ross glanced at one of the CIA agents, who, seemingly understanding what his superior was suggesting, took out a handheld recorder and an unmarked manila envelope that was packed full of papers. “Now, tell us, what do you know about Mr. Negative,” Ross said. “We’ll need any video surveillance footage, paper trails, financial receipts, bank statements—”

Peter and Tony froze, turning to gap at each other. “I’m sorry… what?” Tony said.

“Hold on,” Peter interrupted. “You were there for Mr. Negative? That photonegative looking guy?”

Ross frowned. “Of course. We’ve been tracking him for the past five months. We were there tonight to try and arrest him, but you two got in the way. Why? Who were you there for?”

Peter and Tony exchanged confused looks. Tony took out his own tablet and typed something into the computer. The video that played must have been the footage from the built-in camera in Peter’s suit because it froze on the face of the Maggia contact. “We were going after this guy. He works for the Maggia Crime Syndicate. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

There was a look of sudden apprehension on Ross’s face. “Yeah, we have… hang on,” Agent Ross said, yanking out his own computer. A few fervent strokes on the keyboard. Ross, then, turned the computer to face Peter and Tony. Sure enough it was a photo of the Maggia contact, next to a short biography. “His name is Michael Marko, codename _Man Mountain Marko,_ nicknamed such because of his sheer size and strength. He was arrested about ten years back for illegal use of steroids but received a fine and a slap on the wrist. A couple years after his initial arrest, he had a total breakdown in the middle of a bar and assaulted six other people. We’ve tied him to the Silvermane family, but they’re weak ties at best. Dirty work, only, kind of guy. If he feels one of the, _er_ , Maggia’s business associates isn’t following their end of the bargain, the Silvermane tend to send him in for some light encouragement. What was he doing here?” 

“We found someone who took out a loan from the Maggia,” Tony said. Peter’s gut reaction was to kick Tony in the shin—the CIA couldn’t find out about Mr. Delmar. Apparently, Tony recognized the fear in Peter’s eyes. He hesitated. “If we tell you who the business owner is, you have to promise he won’t be arrested. His business was going under and he was scared. And this person didn’t realize this man was Maggia until after he took the money.”

Ross held his hands up, quickly. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry than someone who was coerced into taking an illegal loan. Who owns the business?”

“His name is Mateo Delmar,” Peter said, reluctantly. “He owns a bodega on 21st street.”

“And he told you that he accepted a loan from the Maggia?” Ross asked.

Peter nodded. “Yeah.”

“We’ll have a couple agents keep an eye on him,” Ross said. “He’ll be safe. Were you trying to arrest Marko tonight?”

“We were tailing him,” Tony said. “We were hoping he might lead us a Maggia branch. Only, your guy showed up and stopped us from going after him.”

“Well, Mr. Negative has been interfering a lot with our operations, too,” Ross admitted. “We need to focus our energy on Mr. Negative.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, we can’t _stop_ investigating the Maggia—” Peter protested.

Ross scoffed. “We have better leads on Mr. Negative, so we invest our energy on him _first._ ” Ross grabbed hold of the manila envelope and pushed it toward Peter, Tony and Vision. “Plus, a lot of our intel suggests that Mr. Negative are connected. Two birds, one stone. Read the file,” he ordered.

At first, the three didn’t move, just staring at the blank manila envelope as though it was covered with poison. Then, when no one made the first move, Vision leaned forward and began to pick through the contents. Peter followed shortly, thumbing through a few pages as well. It was profiles on likely everything the CIA had on Mr. Negative. According to the files, the CIA had been authorized by the World Security Council to start tracking Mr. Negative when he first appeared on their radar over a year ago after killing a hitman hired by the Maggia. Ross has been reassigned from his anti-terrorist taskforce to run the taskforce now designated to tracking the ongoing situation with Mr. Negative. This assignment brought him all over the world: Nepal, Italy, Germany, Japan and finally, New York. 

In addition to details of Ross’s work, it also featured profiles of Mr. Negative. His appearance was rare _and_ random, which is why the CIA had such a difficult time tracking him. When Mr. Negative did make an appearance, it always ended in violence. Normally a Maggia member was murdered in some fashion and, on occasion, buildings were blown up. There were very few civilian and CIA causalities, which Peter supposed was a good thing, but the sheer amount of property damage and the gruesome Maggia deaths didn’t excuse what Mr. Negative was doing. Several of these incidents led to shoot-outs with the CIA or syndicate members. According to the compiled profiles, his features were, in fact, photonegative, which would explain his weird glowing appearance. He primarily armed himself with swords or melees. Each weapon was charged with electricity, but that was just a CIA best guess—they had never been close enough to the weapon to get a good estimate of what made those weapons do so much damage to anything that falls victim to their strikes. Beyond extensive marksmanship skills with those weapons, Mr. Negative evidently had superhuman strength and stamina.

“Do you know what turned him photonegative?” Tony asked.

“No idea,” Ross admitted.

Tony scoffed. “Nice to know the CIA is thorough. What does Mr. Negative have to do with Marko and the attack tonight?”

“Mr. Negative is leading what we believe to be a _very_ violent power grab against the Maggia Crime Syndicate,” Ross said.

His words hung in the air for a long moment. Power grabs. Gang wars. Violence. They were practically all synonymous and they almost always ended in multiple deaths, not only on both sides of the war, but also plenty of civilian causalities. Even Tony who had faced terrorists and real aliens looked frightened. “What evidence do you have to support this theory?” Vision asked.

“Any violence linked to Mr. Negative is also linked to the Maggia, and we know he’s been recruiting dangerous associates from the underground criminal network. One of our informants have been tracking who Mr. Negative is doing business with.” Ross was fumbling with his laptop as he spoke. “Can I get my computer hooked up to this?” He gestured toward the projectors.

“Uh…” Tony stammered. He blinked. “Yes.” With Tony’s help, Ross hooked up his computer to the projector screens in front of the conference table. “Mind if my AI copies the files you have on this computer?”

“Be my guest,” Ross said. “But _only_ the files about the Maggia. Don’t need Tony Stark snooping around our CIA files.” (That comment earned a well-hidden grin from Tony, who, under Ross’s nose, had already hacked the CIA plenty of times). 

With a few clicks of Ross’s computer, a mass of photos was displayed on the projector. Peter immediately recognized the contents of those pictures to be from the lamp store attack, the one involving the vandal that had disappeared at the beginning of the month. And photos of the ambulance… or at least, what was left of it after the vandal was rescued. Terrible looking slashes covered the walls of the ambulance, and the police cars were absolutely burned to pieces. The glass windows were shattered, the doors charred. Peter dialed in on the photos of the EMTs and paramedics. They were young, probably no older than mid-thirties. Three of the five were men and the rest were women. Beside the photo of paramedics were the crime scene pictures of the ambulance attack. 

“What does the ambulance attack have to do with this?” Peter asked.

“Mr. Negative was behind that attack,” Ross said. A blurry photo of Mr. Negative popped up in front of Peter. Behind him was the burning ambulance, completely flipped over on his side. The photo changed to Mr. Negative now pulling the vandal out of the stretcher and loading him into a car. “We believe he was trying to rescue that criminal from being arrested. The vandal you two apprehended was Maggia. His codename is Hammerhead. He’s second in command for the Hammerhead family.” Another few keystrokes, and the pictures changed to a mugshot of the vandal. He had fair skin, a nasty snarl, narrowed brown eyes and, like Peter had remembered him from under the mask, a bulbous, _massive_ forehead. “A few years prior to this attack, Hammerhead was severely injured in a fight with a neighboring gang somewhere in Europe. During his surgery, his skull had been replaced with stolen vibranium. Though he isn’t enhanced in any way, much of his power and danger comes from his skull.”

_That would explain the concussion,_ Peter thought to himself. 

“If this is a power grab, I believe it would make sense that Mr. Negative would have tried to kill Hammerhead himself?” Vision asked. “If that’s the case, where is his body?”

“Our intel suggests Hammerhead is now working with Mr. Negative,” Ross said.

“What intel?” Tony asked.

A few strokes on Ross’s keyboard, and a videos and pictures of a burning building were displayed on the projector. Some of the infrastructure of the building was still standing, but only the first floor. Black scorch marks marred whatever wood or brick was left. Soot and rubble littered the sidewalk and road around it. The area was marked off by yellow crime scene tape. There were news feeds of the same building, some of which were taken while it was still burning. Huge flames traveled up the wooden building, dark gray clouds of smoke spiraling up toward the sky. Peter felt his heart drop as another video playing was of the breaking news report, with bright bold words plastered across the screen reading, “37 _dead in Vegas Hotel and Casino fire.”_

“You recognize this building?” Ross asked.

“That was the building fire on the news,” Tony said, quietly. “Burned to the ground two nights ago… the news said it was a gas leak.”

“And you really believe that?” Ross mumbled. “This building was a front for the Maggia. Money laundering. Illegal gambling. Probably illegal weapon’s sales, too. We believe the owner, who’s codename was Dave Miranda, worked for the Maggia. And Hammerhead was stopped by two security cameras setting the fire off.”

_Thirty-seven people. Dead._ Peter felt he couldn’t breathe.

“Sloppy work,” Tony said. “Getting caught up on camera.”

“Or it was intentional so that the Maggia knew what side Hammerhead was playing for now. Hammerhead’s own _family_ was in that hotel in Vegas,” Ross said.

“That’s pleasant,” Tony mumbled. “Why’d the guy switch sides?”

Ross shrugged. “Not sure. Thugs don’t always care about loyalty. Sometimes a higher paycheck is enough.” Peter could hardly hear what the two men were saying. His ears were ringing… his chest was beating so loudly in his chest… “You okay, Spider-Man?” Ross said. At first, it sounded like he was being sarcastic, but the second Peter grasped for his chest, Ross’s expression turned into a place of genuine concern.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony said. His voice cut through the sudden darkness that threatened to pull Peter back under. He grabbed hold of Peter’s hand. “Take deep breaths with me. In. Out.” Peter did as he was told. He tried to do everything Dr. Strange had taught him, but it had been a long time since Peter has had to deal with panic attacks. That terrible weighted pressure he felt in his chest wasn’t going away. 

“I’m good,” Peter managed, though in all honesty, Peter felt like he was going to throw up.

Tony, having had his own fair share of PTSD and anxiety, didn’t look convinced. “We can take a break if you need to.”

“No. I’m fine. Just shocked… that’s all,” Peter said. He’d internalize the deaths of _thirty-seven_ people later. 

Fortunately for Peter, Everett Ross was standing right next to them and he didn’t look interested in wasting another second. “Every terrible thing that has happened to New York over the past couple of days we believe to be related to the Maggia and Mr. Negative,” Ross said. “Mr. Negative has been working to steal territory and undermine the Maggia, which is why they’re getting more desperate to spread their control by actively seeking out failing businesses or corrupt politicians rather than just waiting for these people to come to them. It’s why there’ve been higher rates of graffiti and vandalism in the area. And why Marko likely resorted to shooting up the street when Mr. Delmar shortchanged him, rather than just breaking a few fingers. If you factor in a betrayal and disturbance of power that comes from Hammerhead switching sides, the Maggia is in a bad place and that puts Mr. Negative in a position to strike.”

“Enhanced or not, Mr. Negative is one man. Does he have accomplices?” Vision inquired.

“Besides Hammerhead and the names of a few thugs we’ve got from various informants,” —the images projecting on the screen changed to a set of men dressed in black with nasty scowls on their face—, “we don’t have much else. We’ve been tracking him for a while now and he’s never been seen with anyone else, nor does anyone come to his aid when an attack goes wrong. In fact, his rescuing of Hammerhead was the closest thing we’ve seen to him working with someone… and, frankly, rescuing Hammerhead from the paramedics may have been just a ploy to disrupt the power within the Maggia.”

“Doesn’t seem to have many friends,” Tony muttered.

“But he’s well-funded, considering all the traveling he’s able to do. And he’s going after one of the most dangerous syndicates in the world. We’re thinking he might be trying to take control of the New York underground network, but without sitting down with the man and having a conversation, we’re just postulating,” Ross said. “Whenever Mr. Negative appears, electricity surges and blackouts follow. We’ve identified several locations in Chinatown here in Lower Manhattan that have similar power surges to what we’ve seen from Negative. There’s a couple of locations we’re interested in—ones that have frequent power surges. This grocery store. An antique store. And this restaurant.” Pictures of each location popped up. “We’re thinking they could be legitimate business fronts to help fund his activity.”

Peter’s interest sparked immediately as he realized he recognized all three of those locations; he and Michelle had walked past each of them on the way to Mr. Li’s soup kitchen. In fact… “I know that restaurant. The owner of the restaurant runs a soup kitchen down the street. His name is Martin Li. He’s a good guy. There’s no way he’s involved with this.”

“The CIA doesn’t accept ‘he’s a good guy’ as a defense for criminal activity,” Ross said, rather bluntly. “We’ll investigate the owner of that restaurant just like we’ll investigate the owners and workers of the other establishments. And we should investigate the soup kitchen, too. Locations like that can garner lots of donations, and if it’s a front for Mr. Negative, it could be how he is able to pay for his expenditures.” Peter tried to protest, but the stern look on Tony’s face silenced Peter. Ross continued, unfazed. “The problem is Mr. Negative’s already had plenty of encounters with the CIA, so surveillance is getting difficult. If the business really is a front for Mr. Negative, they’ll sniff out a CIA agent scoping the place out immediately. And it’s not like Tony can just casually walk through Chinatown inconspicuously. We need someone who won’t be recognized or won’t raise suspicions.”

Peter and Tony glanced at each other. The knot in Peter’s stomach suddenly twisted so fast Peter thought he was going to pass out. He swallowed all traces of anxiety. He knew what he had to do. All of these innocent people had already died because of the rage this Mr. Negative had gone on, and it was Peter’s job to protect Queens. “I think I might have an idea on how to survey Chinatown secretly so that Mr. Negative,” Peter said, timidly.

“Do tell,” Ross said.

Peter opened his mouth, but Tony cut him off. “We’d be involving civilians. You need to guarantee the safety of this person.”

“Yes, of course,” Ross said, flippantly. “Who is it?”

Tony swallowed hard. “My intern, Peter Parker, volunteers at that same soup kitchen, the one the restaurant owner runs. I’m sure Peter would be willing to help.”

“But he has a girlfriend,” Peter added. “And he won’t agree to anything if he thinks she’s going to be put in harms’ way.”

“We’re the CIA. We’re trained in covert ops. They’ll be fine,” Ross said, rather dismissively. “And even if his girlfriend is around, all your intern will need to do is record what he’s seeing. Maybe do more sightseeing than usual. All we’ll ask your intern to do is wear a wire and a recording device. Are you sure he’d be interested in doing something like this?”

Peter nodded. “37 people died in that building fire. His friend was shot by Marko. And all those paramedics and police officers were killed. I know Peter pretty well, and I know he’s plenty pissed about what’s happening. Trust me when I say he’ll do anything to put a stop to the violence.”

* * *

That whole night Peter tossed and turned in his bed. He felt asleep denying that Mr. Li, someone who MJ, May and Uncle Ben trusted and cared for, would ever get caught up with all this senseless violence. And once he was finally able to fall asleep, all Peter could think of was what terrible acts of violence could come in the future if things between Mr. Negative and the Maggia get any more violent than it already has. He woke up a fit of sweat after picturing Midtown Academy itself being burned to the ground with all of his friends and family inside. It’s been a while since Peter has had nightmares like this. As vivid and as lifelike as the one he just had. His heart was pounding so fast he felt as though it was going to jump right out of his chest. With absolutely no desire to fall back to sleep, Peter lied in bed until 6:00 that morning when he finally decided to get ready for school that day.

It only took a once-over for May to recognize the sleep deprivation. “What time did you get in last night?”

“Two AM,” Peter admitted. There would be plenty of opportunities in the future to lie to May, so no sense in doing it now. “Late night.”

“Are you going out tonight?”

“Maybe. Not sure. I’m going to go over to the Compound tonight, though,” Peter said. “If that’s okay.”

May frowned. “You’re taking a nap before you go.”

And that was that. MJ also noticed right away that something was wrong as soon as she saw Peter but she, _thank god,_ didn’t say anything. They sat in the library during lunch, eating quietly, hand in hand. The decathlon competition was coming up, so the two of them had to plenty of logistical work during the meeting. Sign up for busses. Order catering. Make payments. It was nice to have something to do that made so much sense. No guesswork. No stress. When the meeting was done, MJ packed all the paperwork they had filled out into her binder and said they would see each other on Sunday for volunteer work. His stomach twisted at her words as she reminded Peter of what the CIA was planning for this Sunday.

Like he promised May, the first and only thing Peter did when he got back to his apartment was to take a nap. Or try to. He dreamt of the burning Vegas hotel, all the lives lost and the stories and memories that were gone forever. Only thirty minutes later, Peter was already back in his car and driving to the compound, silently, clad in the Iron-Spider suit underneath his laymen clothes. Vision kept most of the CIA agents, who had apparently been at the compound all day discussing plans, busy in the conference room, giving Peter enough privacy to hide his jeans and sweatshirt in his own personal bedroom that Tony had been kind enough to provide when making the move upstate all those years ago. 

They spent the whole weekend at the compound devising a new plan with CIA and they spent most of their time sharing what little intel they had. Tony shared all the video surveillance they had taken from Mr. Delmar, including Marko and Delmar’s weekly Thursday money drop-off times and all the recorded conversations between Delmar and Spider-Man. Marko hadn’t made any unexpected appearances at Delmar’s establishment or at his home, so it didn’t appear that Marko suspected Delmar to have been spilling secrets with Spider-Man. At the very least, Ross assigned Delmar a 24/7 protection detail, so Peter knew the man and his family would be safe for the time being. 

Ross didn’t have much else to share about the Maggia or Mr. Negative. Like the Maggia, Mr. Negative and any of his associates—if he even had any—were just as good at hanging in the shadows. Even the CIA agents half-expected that the power surges in Chinatown were coincidences. From what little surveillance they had already done, they never spotted Mr. Negative had never been spotted going in or out of the place, nor had any known criminals walked in and out of the place. Peter just assumed that surveying Chinatown was his only hope.

Ross was frustrated with Tony that Peter—the intern, _not_ Spider-Man—wasn’t able to be at the compound that Friday. Rather, they wanted until Saturday for Ross and the other CIA agents to finally meet Tony Stark’s intern. Tony passed off some half-hearted excuse about Spider-Man watching over some of the businesses the Maggia had started to target over the past couple of weeks to explain away why he wasn’t there. It was awfully uncomfortable sitting in the compound, unable to hide behind the Spider-Man mask, eyes of CIA agents trained on him like he was some kind of shiny new toy. Peter was on edge the whole meeting and was watching every word he said carefully. He put on his best performance to pretend that he knew nothing about the Maggia or Mr. Negative or why the CIA wanted him to investigate Chinatown. The CIA and Tony didn’t mention anything about the crime syndicate that Saturday, choosing to tell Peter that there were rumors of a domestic threat in need of being investigated. All Peter had to do was wear comms and wear a pair of fake glasses, which would record everything that Peter sees. This Sunday would be strictly surveillance. All Peter needed to do was visit the three locations, and the CIA would worry about identifying anything shady in the establishment. They weren’t expected to speak to any of the workers, unless it would help sell that Peter really was just another customer visiting the store.

While listening to the plan that day, Peter tried his hardest not to think about what this could to do MJ, and how absolutely selfish Peter was being for dragging her into this. Yes, this was supposed to be just a surveillance. There was no trying to sneak into the backrooms to see if there was anything shady. _No one_ should get hurt. Frankly, it didn’t matter how safe this mission was supposed to be. MJ was going to be there with him. If something went wrong and Mr. Negative suspected that Peter was working with the CIA, she would be in danger. Was Peter being selfish? Was it the wrong move? He felt guilty—he _hated_ himself knowing that tomorrow he was going to take advantage of something that was private and special to MJ. Not to mention that he was using this time to investigate Mr. Li. 

Come Sunday, Peter was positively shaking with anxiety. He had to swing by the compound _early_ to get everything he needed so that he could pick up MJ on time. To make matters worse, because Ross was the person hooking up all the wires and setting the comms up, Peter couldn’t risk wearing the spider suit underneath. He knew his strength and stamina didn’t come from the suit, but he felt so helpless without. He silently let Ross explain how to use comms and the glasses, as though Peter hadn’t already used these devices on plenty of missions. There would be a few CIA agents planted in Chinatown in case something went terribly wrong, but for the most, Peter was on his own. He felt so _helpless._

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Tony said over comms. Peter was in his Audi alone, driving back to Queens to pick up MJ at her apartment. Thankfully, there was no CIA agent tailing Peter on the way to pick up MJ. She would definitely be the one to notice the same line of cars—no matter how inconspicuous a PT Cruiser, Ford and Subaru Hatchback is—following them the whole way to Chinatown. 

“I wouldn’t say bringing MJ into this is my number one choice, but if it helps stop all this violence, I guess I have to do it,” Peter said. “You know, if MJ finds out that I’m doing this while we’re supposed to be volunteering, she’s gonna use this wire I have on to strangle me.” All that earned from Ross was a bleak chuckle.

“Just thank your old pal Spider-Man. He threw you and your girlfriend under the bus—and he isn’t even here,” Ross said over the same lines. What followed as a bunch of complaints about the masked vigilante. It was pretty frustrating that there was no private line for Peter to get away from the CIA agent, so he just gritted his teeth and listened to the CIA chatter angrily. 

Thankfully, once MJ got into the car, Ross and Tony fell silent. The first thing she noticed as she settled into the passenger seat was the ridiculous pair of glasses Tony had given Peter. “What’s with the glasses?”

“Tony gave them to me. He said I looked good. A new look. What do you think?” Peter asked. MJ smiled, suddenly looking very coy. She immediately leaned over to kiss Peter, a sloppy, long one that Peter frankly hadn’t been expecting. Peter, a little stunned, chuckled uncomfortably. Not because of the kiss. But because he knew Everett Ross and Tony Stark definitely heard how breathless that kiss left him. He straightened out the glasses, which had been knocked askew. “So, I’m guessing you like them?” he asked as he yanked the gear shift into reverse to pull out of the parking spot.

“You should wear them more often,” MJ said. “I feel like you and I haven’t spent a lot of time together,” MJ said. She grabbed Peter’s hand and began running her fingers against his. “I miss our little weeknight adventures. You know, when you sneak out of your place at night and come visit me. Besides school and this, I hardly ever see you.”

“You would do _what?”_ Tony asked. 

Peter’s face flushed red. “Maybe I’ll pick up where we left off sometime this week.” Any other time, he would have eaten up this conversation, but knowing that CIA was agents were listening made this unbelievably uncomfortable.

“Bring those glasses, too. They’re cute.” MJ gave Peter a sly grin, running her fingers through his hair as she spoke. 

“Those are $5,000 glasses,” Ross snapped so loudly Peter was concerned MJ may have heard. “She gets one fingerprint on them and I swear—”

Peter stopped listening. In fact, it took all Peter had not to rip out the earpiece. 


End file.
